The Great Crusade: Lunatic Wolf
by Spess Merhene
Summary: Conquer the galaxy! See new places, and blow them up! The story of a Luna Wolf in the thirtieth millenium.
1. Sayre: Escape

**Disclaimer – I do not own Warhammer etc.**

**Hello everyone. This is my first fanfic. It's on the Great Crusade, except it starts from the beginning of it. Feel free to critique, I do appreciate it a lot. Enjoy...**

**I hope. **

Planet Sayre. I once heard that some Ancient messiah of Bon Jovi landed here and named it the planet of Rock. But was ten thousand years ago – give or take, back in the good old twentieth millennium. The number made my head boggle. But now?

I swore as I stumbled over a piece of rusting trash. The sound echoed through the deserted streets of Ginas outskirts, the capital of Sayre. Heads turned, some familiar, some from other orphanages. I kept my eyes down.

It was now really just the planet of rocks, I thought, as I straightened myself. Only a few out-towns clung to its barren surface now, as well as a few uncharted pirate and rebel settlements. The ice-cutting stations didn't count – those were just a few people who were desperate enough to make a living on the northern ice cap by slicing gigantic blocks of ice up and selling the water to the towns. Apart from the Great Subterranean Water Belt, there were no other water sources on parched Sayre. It was Jovi's will whether the taps ran in Ginas on any given day.

As for water, I was getting really thirsty. Slung on my right shoulder was a water bottle, which bumped and swung as I walked. My hand closed around it for the hundredth time, feeling yet again how pathetically light it was. Barely five mouthfuls, it was, and I had already taken three. I tried reminding myself that I would need it for the way back, but by Jovi – I was aching for water!

I tried to discourage myself by reminding myself that the decades-old bottle had seen dozens of mouths. But I didn't find that distasteful, unlike some people. As long as they didn't foul up the water I was fine.

But it was all the damn Tyrant's fault. My lip curled. Tyrant Richard the 30th, or was it the 31st? I was never good at my numbers. The Ancient nickname 'Dick' was more apt than they had thought. I didn't say that out loud, of course, since that was asking to get my mouth scrubbed.

_At least they got something right..._ I groused to myself. Things were, ten thousand years ago they had left my home a chemical wasteland, and rumour had it that they had started slinging Quake-fire around to seal the deal. Nobody knew what the dreaded Quake-fire was any more, but it had something to do with mushrooms; so every time we came across any of those unnatural dark-loving plants we made sure we killed them dead.

The Tyrant would love to get his hands on the Quake-fire, what ever it was. He was low enough to do that, I knew. Well, he'd certainly stoop to dragging kids into his Planetary Defence 'Volunteers' Service, or PDS for short.

It was just my misfortune that I was one of those hapless bastards.

And bastards we were, in the most literal sense. All of us recently conscripted were from the orphanages, from the ages fifteen to eighteen, to swell the ranks of the Tyrant's military might to fight the so-called 'Imperium of Man'. Bloody hell, I just had to be fifteen this year. If I had been found a year later, I'd still be in the orphanage.

So, with no parents to shield us, the Tyrant had found the job of rounding us up an absurdly easy one. The shocked protests of our masters and matrons were casually brushed aside, and we were hauled out of our beds – both girls and boys. I still remember shivering on the big courtyard outside the orphanage, surrounded by my stunned mates – all of us in bedclothes to face the pre-dawn freeze. By Jovi, I'd never forget how old Mother Hubble cried and wailed as they herded us into the trucks, to be taken away to the PDS barracks. I'd remember her face to my dying day.

By my reckoning, it had been more than half a year since my conscription – fat load of good that had been. I liked to use my old bolt-action rifle as a staff to lean on, since I found carrying it to be tiring. It also hurt to walk. The boots I had been issued were oversized, and the heel had split on the right. My pants were covered in patches, sewn by my fraying stitching that came apart in a week. Honestly, how were we supposed to fight those fabled 'space marines'?

That was why were trudging through these deserted ruins in Ginas outskirts, looking for 'those guys' who were the news of the sector. Hell, everything people were talking about these days was somehow related to 'those guys'. I heard from my friend Fryec that they were ten-feet tall. I shuddered as I looked up and tried to visualise it. They would be nearly twice my height.

We had been patrolling for nearly five hours; the sun was nearly setting to the south-east. Five damn hours of kicking up bone-dry dirt and crumbling refuse, peering into the gaping windows of abandoned houses. As time passed, those hollow windows and doors seemed to become laughing faces, each taunting us with their memories of the better times they had seen, when food had been plentiful, the water had been clean, and most importantly, there was no Jovi-cursed Tyrant lording over us.

Jovi damn that clap-ridden mongrel! He taxed, he pillaged, he raped, he stole – then he taxed again. He liked to flaunt his wealth as well, holding open-air banquets in full view up in his towering Spike to the ever-hungry people of Ginas. Didn't he know that just made us hate him even more? He didn't care probably, or perhaps he just enjoyed taunting us.

I certainly detested that idiot. Jovi would be waiting for him in the afterlife with the most painfully discordant guitar he had, that I was sure. Every time there was news of the latest rebel raid, I cheered them on in my head. They seemed to be coming out more and more, no doubt spoiling for a fight now that 'those guys' were coming for the Tyrant's head. I yearned to join the rebels, but I also dreaded the possibility of running into them. We were in the Tyrant's uniforms – they would most likely shoot us on sight!

A sharp crack to the head popped that bubble of thoughts abruptly, making me drop my rifle. I swore, and turned around.

Bloody Grevan! A torrent of insults began to surface in my throat, but I quickly stifled that notion. I was angry, but tried not to show it. It would only urge that sadistic bastard on, and I was still fifteen – getting rowdy with a flabby man-mountain like Sergeant Grevan who probably weighed two-hundred kilos was plain stupid. It would be a quick way out of the PDS, I mused – but in a coffin.

I quickly squashed that thought. I tried not to glare up at the furious sergeant. I hated this man just as much as I hated the Tyrant. To me, he was everything that was wrong with Sayre.

"Yeah..._sergeant_?" I adopted a whining parody of his voice, doing my utmost to make his title seem like an insult.

I slouched and shuffled, scuffing my boots in the dirt. I just couldn't help it – some part of me just _needed_ to get under people's skin. But by Jovi, I had the bruises to show for it.

Grevan's face got even redder, hell – I didn't think that was possible. He loomed over me, the stink of ethano clear in his breath. I wrinkled my nose, it was all sour and fetid. He bent his head towards mine, spraying me with spittle.

"Recruit Solas Listern, just because you came from the city gutters doesn't mean you SLACK – OFF!" he snarled, grabbing the rifle and slamming it into my hands. I winced as it cracked into knuckles. They felt like they were on fire.

He had been drinking again, heavily. I clamped my mouth shut, biting back an angry retort. Grevan's violent ways simply got worse with the bottle. But hell, I hated people using my full name. 'Listern' sounded something from a toilet. My parents, whoever they were, must have been drunk or crazy when they had scrawled that name on the box that I was found in. If I'm to be called anything, call me Lister. Everyone did.

"One more time, you brat... One more time of this grox-shit job of soldiering and you're off to the Lobotomy Ward! I won't say it again, recruit!" he roared.

The sergeant's hand lashed out, landing a heavy blow on my cheek. I cried out, struggling to rein my temper. He spun, searching out another recruit among the spread-out platoon of my orphanage mates. Looking at his turned back, I suddenly considered putting a bullet in his back. My hands tightened around my rifle.

I froze. No, no, I was too afraid to try. What if I failed? He'd kill me on the spot. No, no, maybe someone else might do it...

"There! Recruit Dell, this is also for you! I got _news_, you two useless bastards!" the sergeant crowed, madness entering his voice. He pointed at a slender, dark-haired girl that I only knew by name. She had stopped in fright, hugging her rifle instinctively. The rest of the platoon moved on, too scared to stop.

"Our lord Tyrant needs servitors! I read this –" he began.

"You can _read_?" I muttered under my breath. His head snapped around, eyes bulging. Grevan took a menacing step towards me, and I scuttled away, head down.

He spat. "I'll deal with you later, you little pissant! But hear this: all unsatisfactory recruits will be reprocessed into servitors. Six months and you're still useless! Shape up or _ship out_! If you ain't up to the job of kicking those fancy space marines into orbit, you'll make nice sanitary servitors! Ha!"

His multiple red jowls shook and wobbled madly as he continued his tirade. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Dell flinch. She was a good recruit, she was diligent and worked hard – but she couldn't handle guns from what little I had seen of her.

Hell, she didn't deserve a lobotomy. Neither did I for that matter. I stood still as my brain went through what would happen.

We'd be carted off to a nameless factory in black trucks with hundreds of other unfortunates, shackled and gagged. It was said that they injected some sort of chemical into you that made you nearly choke – some of the tyrant's men were sick enough to do that. So, with your last real moments of life spent nearly choking, they would – they would...

I nearly gagged. Grevan noticed, and his mouth curled ever so slightly.

Well, they would stick a stiff wire above your eye-ball, at the top of the eye-socket. Then...oh Jovi – they would hammer it in, into the deep pulsings of the brain, cutting and tearing. Then...then it would be moved around _inside_ in a horribly precise pattern, so as to not kill the 'patient', but to take away what made them a Jovi-loving person, what made them truly _them_.

That was what I heard, anyway. But it was gruesome enough to evoke a deep terror in me. Servitors were also known as ghouls to some of the more superstitious folk, as they had no soul. Worst of all, it was rumoured if the butchers didn't do their job properly, the soul didn't leave properly. I shuddered, and so did Recruit Dell – at least I wasn't alone.

The sergeant's mouth continued to turn, morphing into a triumphant sneer. He had got us there, and he knew it.

Suddenly, I felt something red and hot wash over my vision. I guess the idiot gene was hereditary, because I opened my fool mouth to say something back.

Years on, I'd look back at this as the best and worst decision of my life. No, probably my worst.

"What? Cos' you quit your diet? Buddy, I'm so sorry – you'll have to lobotomise _all_ of us for the sewers to cope now!" I jeered.

It just came out. I didn't know why, but I certainly didn't want it to.

Jovi wasn't looking over me at that moment. My voice carried, slipping between the steady beat of trudging boots – straight into the ears of the entire platoon. A quiet ripple of laughter went through my normally despondent platoon. I was known as somewhat of a joker, always getting in trouble but getting away with it lightly.

Not today.

To my dismay, it was unnoticed by the now-apoplectic Grevan. He seemed to swell, and I felt the storm-cloud of his anger press against me. Too late, I realised that this time, I had gone too far. Not good! Dell, the shy girl, dropped her rifle. Her legs were trembling.

Something snapped in the sergeant. He straightened up, almost stately in manner, as if immensely satisfied with himself. I felt my heart plummet.

_Surely not..._ I whispered to myself. Surely he wouldn't...

He smiled expansively and pulled out a black notebook, jotting down something in it. To my horror, I saw what it was.

That was his leave book. Except we never got any sort of leave, apart from the kind where one of us went away in a body bag, never to be seen again. 'Training accidents', Grevan called them. He would sign them off, and go straight to the dead kid's bunk to take all his belongings.

"Friendly fire on a live fire exercise at Ginas outskirts. Recruits Dell and Listern will be most sorely missed," he announced.

The notebook closed with a final snap. To me, that was my neck breaking.

I strangled my rifle in shock. Dell started crying. Grevan checked his chrono and grinned at us, sharp teeth in his mouth. He loaded his pistol.

"I'll enjoy this. Thirty seconds. Run – not that it'll help you."

That sick, sick bastard.

I needed no urging to start pelting away. I had my gun, some water – I could survive. For a while at least. But mine were the only running feet I heard. By Jovi, what the hell was that girl doing?

I turned back – and Dell was just sitting there, wringing her hands and sobbing. I paused, not knowing what to do.

She'd slow me down! If I took her, I'd lose all the lead I got!

_Help or run?_ I couldn't decide, Jovi damn it!

I frantically juggled the options in my head. Most of me felt like running, since –

No, that's what Grevan would do! I wasn't a twisted monster! I wasn't a heartless bastard!

So I ran back to her and hauled her to her feet. She felt so thin under my hands. But there was a comforting warmth to her, a defiant spark of life. Almost instantly, I felt that I had to protect her.

_'Knight in shining armour, is that what you are, Lister?_' the cynical part of me sneered. I angrily stamped it down. I was doing what any decent person would do!

"We're grox-hash if we stay here!" I yelled into her ear.

Her head bobbed up and down jerkily. I took that as a yes. Her rifle lay on the ground.

"Pick it up! Come on, hurry!"

Twenty seconds left. Grevan was pistol-whipping the kids, cowing them into submission.

Dell fumbled and dropped her gun. In my panic, I just tugged her along, pushing her further out towards the outskirts. I gave her a final shove as I came to a halt.

I knew that we had lost too much time. Dell continued running, but she was slowing as she realised I wasn't alongside her. I turned back to the gloating sergeant, taking faltering two steps towards him.

Ten seconds left. An idea popped up in my head. It was something I had always wanted to do, short of killing that bastard. It was insane, but it was inspired.

Time for one last insult. Old habits die, but by Jovi, they die _hard_!

"Sergeant, I wanted to say something. I love you!" I said.

And I kicked him squarely in the balls. I willed every ounce of hatred in that kick, as if I would kick so hard as to force his clap-ridden testicles out of his mouth. Then I spun round, not looking back at my handiwork.

I pulled at Dell, and we both high-tailed it out of there. Oh well, you can't get everything in life. But the choked squealing was enough. One look at Dell told me she felt the same. A tiny smile flitted over her frightened features. Good on her!

I took one look back at my old friends, who stood in a confused rabble, mouths agape. I think Fryec was trying to cheer me on, but Holdern had his hand over his mouth. I wasn't too sure about that, with all the bumping and jolting as we ran.

But one thing was clear.

They all had grins as wide as the desert. Because one of them was getting always from the PDS, and that fellow was me!

…...

Filled with elation, we plunged deeper into the ruins. Dell and I never slacked off once, too intent on escape to even notice our aching muscles. But Jovi damn, we were free! The wind whipped across our faces, blown in by the wild, untamed deserts.

For a moment, I thought we could go anywhere.

With a wince, I heard Grevan's titanic roar of rage. I shot a wide-eyed look at Dell, which she returned with equal alarm. The sound of our running feet became louder as we strove to put as much distance as possible between the platoon and us.

Game on then! Inside, I cringed though. _We_ had to shift our bodies – out-run an entire platoon of our old orphanage mates. _They_ only had to shift their bullets into us. I gritted my teeth in anger as we ran. There were more than enough toadies in the platoon who were willing to kiss Grevan's arse, even if it meant filling us with lead.

Hell, at least I knew Fryec and Holdern would be aiming the other way. Friends always counted for something. But something was nagging me.

"Dell...you – did – have – friends – yeah?" I gasped out, rounding a corner. My feet skidded on the gravel.

Despite our plight, she managed to shoot me an incredulous glance.

"Yeah!" she managed to say. Her face was flushing red. I could feel the sweat running down my face.

Our heads snapped back together as the tramp of running feet echoed down the streets.

"Oh hell," I spat.

I tugged at Dell's sleeve, pulling her into the alleys. We ducked and weaved, now trying to outfox the platoon. We could never outrun them!

We suddenly ducked as the bullets started flying. I crashed through piles of flimsy wooden crates, clearing a path for Dell. Jovi damn – ow! Splinters stuck into me, drawing blood! Hell, what did I do to deserve this?

_Crack – crack – crack!_

The shots were wild, but each one was like a stab straight through my heart. It really tore me to actually see my mates shoot at me. Fryec and Holdern – I knew that they weren't the shooters. But I thought I had been on good terms with the rest of them! So much for friendship, bloody hell!

The alley opened up into a wide road. I swore, and Dell and I skidded to a halt.

Frantically, I scanned the area. Hell, running through such an exposed area was just asking to get shot –

_Bang!_

We jumped. A shower of dust scattered onto my shoulders. Looking up, I saw a perfectly round bullet hole in the wall.

That could have me! No time for thinking now!

"By Jovi – run!" I yelled, pulling at Dell.

We sprinted down the wide road. It was lined with Ancient ruins. Jovi damn, that meant we were getting close to the edge of Ginas! If we could just keep running a little further...

My platoon started shooting, having come out of the alleys. We twisted and bobbed, trying to dodge that hail of lead. Dell was flagging by now.

It was all my fault. If I hadn't mouthed off at Grevan, perhaps she wouldn't be running for her life. I knew that if she died, it would be her blood on my hands.

"Come on Dell!" I gasped, pushing at her. "Let's get to that building there!"

I ran behind her, to push her – to shield her. I got her into this mess, the least I could do was to get her out!

We screamed as someone opened up with auto fire. One of the recruits had an Ancient autogun! Hell, how could I have forgotten? Puffs of dirt exploded all around us. A torrent of slugs poured into the wall beside us, reducing ten-thousand year old graffiti to dust. Somehow, none of us was hit.

The fire slacked a little. Thank Jovi autoguns had to reload! We quickly hared into one of the buildings.

Through the windows, I saw that the rest of the pack was fast catching up, goaded by a howling Grevan. I ducked as a stray bullet flew in.

"Jovi help us," I snarled desperately, keeping down.

I hurriedly scanned the floor, looking for things to block the windows. Bloody hell, I knew where we were.

This was an Ancient Tech-temple!

Despite our predicament, Dell was staring at the ground with disgust. And damn right she should be! Around us lay dusty old cogitators, dozens of them – all filthy thinking machines!

With a shudder, I picked up the first cogitator. Let them take the fire! I shuffled up and down the room we were in, ducking under the zipping bullets. I unslung my rifle, sliding it over to Dell.

"Shoot them back!" I hollered. My throat stopped at what I just said. "I mean – don't _really_ shoot them, just make it look like we are!"

She slid over to the gun, picking it up with trembling hands. As soon as she touched it I knew the gun would never fire in her hands. Jovi damn it!

Shaking my head at the sheer unfairness of what was happening, I heaved the last cogitator into place. Through a small gap, I noticed that something odd was happening.

Some of them weren't shooting, even when Grevan screamed at them until spit flew. My heart soared, and immediately plummeted. One of them, I think it was Marc – he dropped his rifle, shaking his head stubbornly.

I groaned. Bloody hell, he'd get it from –

Grevan whipped his pistol out. Jovi – no – no!

Suddenly, a scintillating red beam screeched out of the gun. The charred ruin of Marc slumped to the ground, chest all but gone. Sickened, I turned away from the window, offering a prayer for Marc's soul. I bumped into Dell, her brown eyes wide.

"We're gonna die, aren't we?" she asked, on the verge of tears.

I stared hard into her eyes.

"Don't...don't ever give up, Dell. If we keep running maybe they'll give up."

What a lie. It sounded false even as it left my tongue.

The fire picked up, the platoon firing even more rapidly in terror – not even waiting for their guns to cool. We huddled on the ground as the world disintegrated around us. I felt Dell's shoulders shake as she started sobbing, and my gut clenched in fear.

Grevan had a _laser pistol!_ That was the worst of the worst!

Slowly, I dragged Dell behind the altar. There we cowered, too afraid to move. The sound of guns firing gradually became louder and louder as Grevan realised we weren't shooting back.

_Why wouldn't they just shoot Grevan?_ I raged silently.

I gritted my teeth. I'd shoot the bastard! I'll do it, if no one else was going to!

I snatched my rifle back from Dell. I mumbled a quick prayer to Jovi, and tensed my legs, rising.

And stopped. I couldn't do it! Bullets whined and ricocheted. I was too scared. Too much of a coward.

I turned to Dell, shame burning in my heart.

"Sorry I got you into this," I said sadly. "Never meant for you to get hurt."

The shaking stopped. She looked up at me.

"Ain't your fault," she whispered, and that was all.

I tried to get up and shoot once more. Again, my courage failed me. In the end, I settled on slowly edging my rifle up onto the altar, flat on the top. In desperation, I started pulling the trigger, hoping to scare them off.

I didn't dare to get up and aim. I felt a shot pass just over my fingers, and I bit back a scream.

This was the end.

We glanced at each other, and in mute agreement began singing a prayer to Bon Jovi, an old song called '_Livin' on a Prayer'_. The words fitted our hopeless plight.

Out of the blue, a monstrous roar replaced the shooting. Curiosity overcame fear, and we peeked over the pummelled altar, brushing away a crumbling yellow sign that read: _SALE! 50 PERCENT OFF ALL COMP – _

A garishly painted, armoured truck skidded into view! By Jovi – was I seeing things? I rubbed my eyes in disbelief.

The truck sprayed Grevan's lot with stubber fire. I hoped fervently that Fryec and Holdern weren't hit. I heard a panicky shout: '_Retreat!'_

The small cheer that formed in our throats died unborn as we saw the figures that tumbled out of the truck. Rough clothes, strips of rag and ammunition straps; and many, many guns. I suddenly had a very bad feeling about who they were.

We ducked back under the altar. We held our breaths, hoping that they would pass us by.

Silence.

Slowly, carefully, I peered around the corner. There was...no one!

Where the hell were they?

I shot a glance behind us. No one there. I looked at Dell; she gave me a confused shrug. Her tears were drying, but she still looked worried.

We looked over the altar. Same result.

Then we heard a deep voice behind us. We froze.

"Well, well, what 'ave we 'ere? Two runaways? Can't 'ave tha', can we? Take 'em, girls n' boys."

The last thought that crossed my mind when the tranquilizer hit was something about jumping from frying pans into fires.

They were pirates.

**As some of my original readers might have realised, this is not the same as the original first chapter. I hope you like it better – it gives more depth to the planet and characters in my opinion. I will continue altering the next chapters as well. I'll repeat again, I'm not too much of a grimdark guy – this is 30K after all!**


	2. Sayre: The Sayrean Freedom League

I slowly rose out of my torpor, laboriously shaking off the drugs like a dog would shake off dust on its coat. I rubbed a dirty hand across my gummed-up eyes, clearing my vision.

Where was I?

I mutely regarded a dimly-lit room, with a spluttering 'lectric lantern and washbasin on the table. Nothing else adorned the dusty room. Dell sat on the table too, her legs drawn up to her chest, just staring at me.

I guess she was alright looking; I'd seen worse from some of the orphanage's matrons, so I couldn't complain. She had dirty brown hair cut to shoulder length, wide inquisitive eyes, a button nose and a delicate mouth. Not much chest to speak of, but that was normal – she had that semi-starved look that all we orphans shared. I flushed and hastily averted my gaze as she noticed where my eyes were roaming.

Damn girls! How did they catch me every time?

Hey – don't get the wrong idea – I'm no pervert, just...interested. Isn't that normal?

Not that I was much to look at myself though, as I staggered over to the washbasin, regarding my reflection in the inch-thick water at the bottom of the metal basin. I looked even worse than I usually thought I looked like. A black-haired scarecrow stared back at me, even thinner than he used to be. The brown eyes stared back at me with a rather shocked expression. There were a few cuts scattered about, no doubt caused by flying bullet debris. I wrenched my eyes away from the pitiful face in the water, turning back to the silent Dell.

"What's your name? I can't keep calling you Dell forever," I asked, not expecting any reply.

I didn't know her back at the old orphanage – barely recognised her in fact; but I got the impression that she wasn't particularly talkative. She seemed so damn _shy_!

So it was a nice surprise when she uncurled her legs, murmuring softly, "Um...I'm Jane. Jane Dell. And you're...Solas Listern, aren't you?"

I winced at the name. "Lister – just Lister." Then curiosity got the better of me, so I asked, "How did _you_ know my name?"

She snorted, no longer tentative, at least not as much. "How could I not? Weren't you that crazy goon that was always getting into scrapes and playing pranks?"

"Hey!" I objected indignantly. "I might'a played those pranks, but I ain't no crazy goon! My head's screwed on right, ain't no doubt about that! You take that back!"

I didn't mean it, but Dell – Jane, I meant – she got frightened by my explosion, shrinking away from me. By Jovi, I must have been a bit too loud.

"Sorry," she said quietly, not looking at me, contrite.

Jovi damn, I messed that up bad! I kicked myself, reminding myself that I barely knew her.

"Hell, didn't it mean it that way, Jane," I wittered. A tiny smile flickered across her face as I said her name. "It's just the way I speak and all, you know... Er, sorry."

Jane looked at me squarely this time. "Goon," she teased. Her eyes were a light brown.

Damn fickle, all girls were! I rolled my eyes as I ignored the light-hearted jibe.

Hell, I doubt I'd ever understand them. We were separated into girls' and boys' dorms at the orphanage, and went to different classes. The only time we spent with the girls was on the yard, where we had fun chasing them with an armful of slimy insects.

I suddenly smiled as I remembered one time on the yard when we did that; I think we were about ten years old then. Fryec was chasing this one girl when she suddenly turned around, yelling, and gave his shins a belting of a lifetime. By Jovi, how he howled.

"Eh, Lister? You aren't an _air-headed_ goon, are you?" Jane asked, one eyebrow raised. "You look sorta...um, not here."

"Sorry," I apologised. "Was remembering something we did back at the orphanage."

She grinned at that. "We had a saying at the girls' dorm. 'If something's awry, blame it on Lister and Co.'!"

"Jovi damn, I was famous?" I exclaimed. "That's brilliant!"

Jane gave me a sideways look, and suddenly I felt a metre shorter. "Well, we normally called you three 'Holdern, Fryec, and that other fella whose-name-we-forgot'," she replied primly.

"That ain't fair! Ain't fair at all!" I complained. "How come Holdern and Fryec get all the credit? I planned most –"

She laughed gaily, saying, "You fell for it! I'm just _joking_, Lister! How could we forget you? You were the funny guy, by Jovi! We always laughed when you were mouthing off at whoever came for you. Though," she added. "Holdern was the best looking out of you three..."

I felt a pang of jealousy for Holdern, who never seemed to look starved or thin despite the lack of food. We were all around fifteen; my year's intake, and recently both girls and boys had started to look at each other differently. Hell, I always noticed some doe-eyed girl staring at Holdern, but never once did I catch one looking at me. I don't know how, but I think I offended Jovi pretty badly for that to happen.

"Yeah, yeah," I shot back, making light of it. "Sorry to break it to you, but Holdern snores like a truck. He also drools in his sleep."

"Well," she said, eyes sparkling with mirth. "At least he hasn't a mouth like a truck's engine, Mister Motor-mouth!"

"Urngh, I give up with you..." I growled, smiling back. "I hope whoever's caught us sends you somewhere nasty."

"Aw, poor Lister! Hey, at least – for a goon and a motor-mouth, that is – you're a nice one," she said jokingly.

"Why thank you," I muttered sarcastically, crossing my arms. "I'm sure you're a _nice_ girl too, though the name-calling says otherwise..."

"Of course I'm a nice girl, Mister Lister! Oh! Should I call you Solas or just Lister?" she asked.

"Hmmm," I mused. "I like 'Lister' better. Being called 'Solas' makes me feel like a an old guy. You know, 'solace' and all that. Do you like being called Jane or Dell?"

"Jane of course!" she said forcefully. "Only bastards like Grevan called me Dell."

"Oh, so am I a bas –" I protested.

"Oh no, no, you just didn't know my name, that's all. Sorry, Lister." She flashed an apologetic smile my way.

"S'all right. You're right about one thing, though," I answered. "Grevan's a Jovi-cursed bastard!"

"Hell yeah! I hope...Jovi forgive me, he got shot – by whoever took us..." Her voice trailed off as she glanced at the stout wooden door.

"Yeah, look – do you know where we are?" I asked, taking a few wobbly steps to the door.

I tried turning the handle. It was locked shut.

"I thought they were pirates," she whispered, abruptly wilting from contentment to anxiety. "I caught a glimpse of them, and they sure looked like the part."

"Jovi damn," I cursed. "Let's hope they aren't slave traders."

Dread rumours of the flesh trade abounded in Ginas. The out-lands were considered a dangerous place partly because of this reason. If you were lucky, we were sent to a master at some remote way-station – if you weren't you were shipped off-planet to alien worlds and masters. I shuddered. Though it worse for girls; if they were pretty enough – Jane certainly was, they were forced to work in whorehouses and the like.

The brown-haired girl seemed to realise that as well. In a blink she looked nervous once again. Awkwardly, I patted her shoulder, too afraid to touch anything else.

"I'll make sure we get sold together!" I feebly joked. I don't think it worked.

As if on cue, the door blasted, slamming on its rusty hinges. A young man swaggered in, grinning. _Clink, clink, clink,_ the noise went with him with every footstep. His black jacket was festooned with all manner of sewn, outlandish badges, ethano bottle caps and spare ammunition; and three pistols hung at his waist. A mess of scars, his face was, and from his scalps sprouted more dreadlocks than I ever thought possible.

The fellow looked around the room, taking his time, as if he owned all that he saw. He finally appeared to notice us, smiling a sharp-toothed grin.

"Welcome to the town of Tommis!" he brightly announced, like he had never kidnapped us at all.

I knew his voice! That was the man behind us! Dell – Jane, I mean, she seemed to as well. We both shrank back and readied ourselves for a life of slavery, torture and abuse.

Meanwhile, our pirate wore an expectant look on his face. What the hell were we supposed to do? I suddenly noticed his fly was undone.

"No need to act that, people," he said after an awkward pause. He grinned again knowingly. "You're those Planetary Defence 'volunteers', eh? Them kids the Tyrant's usin' to fight the Imperium's space marines?"

Jane and I exchanged a quick glance. She nodded once, ever so briefly. I shrugged. No harm telling the truth. We were royally screwed either way.

"Yeah," I muttered quietly. "Who are you?"

Hopefully he'd sell us to a decent owner.

"Me? I'm Sammo, and you're staying 'ere cour-esy of the Sayrean Freedom League," he jovially replied.

His accent was one of an agri-farmer's somewhere from the southern hemisphere. He had come a long way. I flinched as Jane kicked my leg. Our eyes met.

By Jovi! I suddenly realised this 'Sammo' said he was _Freedom League_! I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. If they were Freedom League, they would shoot us, since we looked like Tyrant's men. I plucked at my shirt despondently.

"...you're not pirates then?" I mumbled hopefully.

"Count yourselves lucky that I'm not! Ha! I sure dress like one eh?" He gave his crazy jacket a proud rattle.

Our apparently non-piratical friend laughed, as he conspiratorially leaned over and pointed up at the roof. "You're in the right place, my friends. Tha' Imperium of Man's invading in a few months. You know that invincible Old Earth empire? News of the sector. Don't tell me you two haven't heard of them?"

We both nodded, still apprehensive.

"Now if I were you, I wouldn't be fightin' those space marines with those pop-guns you were carrying. I heard they're ten feet tall from a space merchant, and spit fire! Hell, you don't want to be a Tyrant's man – or lady, sorry miss – when the space marines turn up. Apparently they can tip over tanks and run right through walls. Now – we're gonna help 'em, cus' their agents tell us we'' be well-rewarded with our own guv'norship! And – "

His voice had been steadily rising in volume in his growing enthusiasm. He was abruptly cut off when a deep voice boomed behind Sammo.

"And don't you suspect that they may be enemy spies?"

Sammo jerked back with alarming alacrity and saluted. The new voice remained beyond the dim doorway, cloaked in shadow.

"Sorry, sir. They was getting shot a' by their own people though. Figured tha' they was trying to get away, and tha' they were alright," he explained, voice trembling a little.

I shrank back as well. Who wouldn't be scared?

"Is that so," the voice mused. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Perhaps..."

"Well, I was hopin' we could keep 'em around and let 'em help out, ya' know sir," our dreadlocked kidnapper suggested. He quickly added, "They'd have to work for their keep, o'course."

The figure shifted a little, and Sammo dutifully made way. I could catch a fleeting glimpse of a pair of hard eyes, but that was all.

"Tyrant's uniforms. You are deserters." It was not a question.

We nodded anyway.

"How much military experience do you two have?" The shadowy man sounded doubtful.

My lips seemed glued together in fear.

"Well?" he demanded.

"Six months!" I hastily replied.

"Combat experience?" he shot back.

"None... Sorry," I mumbled apologetically. I hoped our Mr Shady didn't just boot us out into the desert there and then.

"Do you know how to operate, maintain and repair autoguns?" he demanded.

"Yeah, I reckon," I replied. Jane nodded too, catching on. Truth be told, we only had done it once, but you never forget stuff like that.

"And on what account did you desert from the PDS?" His voice seemed to harden as he said this.

I paused, trying to think of a suitably eloquent answer. Jane had it straight away, though.

"On the account that the Tyrant's a murdering, evil, Jovi-cursed bastard, and so are most of his men!" Jane blurted out. She immediately clapped her hands over her mouth in horror, eyes wide. "Sorry for swearing! I won't do it again!"

"There are some words, young lady, that are reserved for people such as he," the shadowy man remarked gently. He didn't seem as angry any more, just tired.

"Hmph. Very well, as you two are well aware, we are the Sayrean Freedom League, or SFL for short. Our goal is to restore equality on Sayre, namely by deposing the Tyrant. You may refer to me as...Uncle. Do not think of any other name, or try to discover it, understood?"

We nodded.

"You have some modicum of combat experience. Would you like to take a combat role in our operations? I make no denials that it is hard, dangerous work, but suffering comes before freedom. What say you?"

Jane and I glanced at each other. Get back at Grevan? Jovi spare him, because I won't! The excited light in Jane's eyes said the same. Hell yeah!

"Yes, we'd like to," we chorused.

Uncle's murky head bobbed once in acknowledgement, and he turned to Sammo.

"Sammuel, show these two around and introduce them to everyone," he instructed. "And find them a decon unit, they stink. Good day."

Without ceremony, the shadow slunk away.

…...

"What's your names?" Sammo asked, as he lead us through the warren that was known as Tommis.

We had previously emerged from a hidden bunker located just outside the town walls, walking through a dense clump of withered trees to the rickety main gate. Sammo had had a short conversation with the skeletal guard manning the gate, who had smiled at us warmly. Actually, I suspected he was smiling more at Jane, but since she was a girl I wasn't fussed.

We were then stuffed in an old decon unit, sprayed with cleaning chemicals that evaporated as soon as they touched skin. I came out feeling sterilised, but not exactly clean. Only water could give you that clean feeling, but unfortunately I only had about five water baths in my entire life.

At least we had lost our shoddy PDS uniforms. I now wore a pair of brown pants and a plain white shirt. They were obvious hand-me-downs, with a little bit of darning and patches on them – but at least they were sturdy. The pants in particular were great; the knees had tough leather coverings sown on, and there were at least six pockets that I had currently discovered. I threw out my crappy old boots as well, so I wasn't wearing shoes right then. Sammo had promised me a pair that fit me by the next day.

As for Jane, she got much the same with a jacket and a belt on top of that. She has kept that dusty green shawl of hers – I think she had worn it back at the orphanage. Damn – and that jacket actually looked like it was warm. Unlike her, I would have to shiver it out on cold desert nights, and I wasn't looking forward to it.

Girls get everything sometimes, by Jovi...

As for the town, there seemed to be innumerable spare parts and tinkering going on as we walked through Tommis. We jumped on the side of the road as a trio of armoured trucks roared past us; Jane pulling up her shawl to fend off the billowing dust, while Sammo and I coughed and spluttered. Laughter from the nearby tavern filtered through the dusty air, and people called to each other from the balconies and rooftops. The sky was a rosy pink as the sun set – and by Jovi, I realised I was happier than I ever was.

I gaped as a fairly intact PDS tank was dragged through the main street by a groaning truck, great cheers erupting from everywhere as the Tyrant's Fist insignia was replaced by the seven-starred wheel of the Freedom League as the spray cans did their work.

"I'm Jane, and he's the cistern – I mean _Listern_!" Jane teased, turning back to me, giggling all the while. She had such a merry expression that I smiled back, until I realised what she was talking about.

I gave the two my hardest glare. Jovi damn, I had such a bad name!

"It's Lister. Nothing else," I growled shortly.

Sammo and Jane continued chortling. I had noticed that those two were being awfully chummy as soon as we had left the bunker. She hadn't left his side since we had entered Tommis. Whether she was trying to score brownie points with Sammo, or that she was scared of the unfamiliar surroundings, I didn't know.

Hell – she didn't _like_ the fellow, did she?

I mean, we had only met him a few hours back!

I shook my head as we continued our trip, feeling a small stab of jealousy flare in my chest. But nothing could really put a damper on my mood right then. I was free! There was no stupid Grevan or Tyrant hanging over my head any more!

Ha! Who cared if Jane really did like Sammo? There were a million other girls on Sayre, and besides, when I became a dashing starship captain I could always whisk away some foreign girl from an exotic starport countless light-years away.

"So how old are you?" Sammo gasped, still recovering from his mirth.

"Fifteen, roundabouts – both of us. Same year of intake, weren't it Lister?" Jane answered.

I didn't bother replying, still a little stung over the 'cistern' joke. She shot me an exasperated look that seemed to say _'Get over yourself!'_

"Urngh, that's right," I muttered in surrender. What else was I supposed to say?

We passed a machine gun post, then a stubber emplacement – Jovi damned ugly reminders of war. From a few of the rooftops perched ungainly anti-air guns. I tried not to look at them.

"What about you, Sammo?" Jane asked, after the awkward silence.

"Nineteen, fellas," he replied. "You liking it here?"

"Hell yeah!" Jane laughed enthusiastically.

"Beats the barracks we were cooped up in before." Of that, I couldn't lie. "Hell, if you moved your head too far to the side when you were sleeping, you got a face full of the next guy's foot."

Sammo roared with laughter. Jane grimaced.

"The boys had to do that as well? Us too! By Jovi, how bad was it?" she smiled.

"Tell me about it..." I grumbled good-naturedly.

We had to sleep side-by-side in the PDS barracks, three hundred boys crammed into a dusty warehouse. We slept on hard pallets on the floor, and to fit us all in they made us sleep in what they called a 'tessellating pattern'. That was, as you went down the row, one guy would sleep head-first, the next feet-first, the one after head-first again, and so on.

The smell was terrible.

"Hey," I said, pointing at the tavern sign as we passed it. It read _Tommis Fine Eatery_. "This town's named after Tommi, yeah?"

"That's right Lister. The one and only," Sammo affirmed.

I nodded in approval. Tommi was one of Jovi's legendary prophets, the husband of Gina, whom the city of Ginas was named after. The great Bon Jovi had said that they had never given up despite all the hardships of life, and I reckon that was true for both Ginas and Tommis. The sand-blasted walls of the buildings around us spoke of years of unending endurance.

"By the way, you two have any parents back at Ginas?" Sammo asked.

Jane and I exchanged frowns. That was pretty low thing to say – wait, we never told him we were orphans!

"Nah, we're from the orphanage," I said. "Why so you ask?"

"Well, if the Tyrant gets wind of who a kid's parents are, and the kid's with us – who knows what harm will 'appen if they take the parents hostage?" Sammo explained. "But so far, none o' us have parents – we all don't 'ave no immediate family."

"Is that why you joined the SFL?" Jane asked gently.

"What?" Sammo asked, a little too quickly. "Hey! Check that out! A desert eagle!"

An eagle! That was a lucky omen!

"Where?" I asked gormlessly. I scanned the empty sky. Jane slowed down, frowning, and started walking next to me for no apparent reason."Where's the eagle? There ain't no ea –"

I yelped as I felt Jane kick my shin. That hurt – she had gotten boots too! She shook her head vigorously, face locked in an unmistakeable _'Shut up Lister!'_ expression. Ahead, Sammo was quiet. His shoulders were slumped too. I took the hint.

We rounded off the main street in silence a little while after, heading into a shabby-looking building. Most of the white-wash had been flaked off, exposing the brown granite underneath. A crude 'lectric lamp hung over the doorway, unlit. The place itself looked like a warehouse, windows built high up on the walls. The roof sprouted three makeshift chimneys.

Sammo opened the door for us, ushering us in. The interior smelt a little dusty, with a hint of old wood and hinge oil. Sammo and Jane clomped in in their heavy boots, so I slapped my bare feet loudly as I walked to match them. I smiled crookedly when Jane shot me a quizzical look.

It was fairly dim as we meandered through a few corridors. Then the smell hit me.

Food!

My mouth watered, my stomach suddenly rumbled. I hadn't even realised how empty my stomach was before that. Sammo pulled open a door, and light flooded in.

"'Ere we are," Sammo announced, cheerful once more. "Welcome to our 'umble abode. Jane, you'll bunk with the ladies – obviously. Mr Toilet – I mean Lister – you'll bunk with me."

We walked into the warehouse proper. It was a lofty place. The walls were a smooth creamy brown, and childish drawings had been tacked onto them. A few pots bubbled on small fires at the chimneys. My mouth drooled.

A crowd of about twenty kids converged on us, most carrying or brandishing an arsenal of autoguns and machine pistols. What shocked me the most was the fact that some were as young as ten. Jane and I were older than all of them!

"Not too many here, sadly," Sammo commented as they came. "Ginas border security has become too tight for most people to escape. I heard somewhere that the Tyrant had some fool-idea that he could get the Ginas-folk to fight the space marines for him. Fat chance, eh?"

I snorted abrasively. The Tyrant deluded himself daily.

Alarmed, I stared as one of the nursery brigade deftly flipped a knife between her fingers. She caught my gaze and her mouth twitched in a wry smile. A hand went up to brush the hair from her forehead, and I caught a glimpse of a pink hair clip. She couldn't have been older than twelve.

An especially little kid stumbled, trying to lug a rifle as long as he was tall. I would have laughed at him, but he had a gun.

"Everyone, this is Jane and Lister," yelled Sammo, mock-bowing to everyone with flamboyant flourishes. "Jane and Lister, this is everyone. They'll introduce themselves, don't you two worry."

Oh, I didn't doubt that – twenty pairs of eyes suddenly rested of us.

"Hang on, I need ta' pee," Sammo then remarked tactfully. "Off I go!"

He hurried off, abandoning us. At least he would discover his fly was undone. The torrent of questions hit us nearly at once.

"Where ya' from?"

"How are you?"

"How did you get so tall?"

"Where are your shoes?"

"I'm Haylee! What's your name again?"

"It's Listo, dummy!"

"Shut up Ryain!"

I didn't get a chance to answer any of them. The kids pressed in among us. Jane smiled happily, patiently replying to each kid's question. Slowly, I felt myself warming to this crowd of crazy kids.

We talked for a while, until a little girl – I think she was called Tana – suddenly piped up with the most awkward question.

"Listy, is Jane your girlfriend?"

The hubbub quickly died down. They all looked at me expectantly. I heard a few girls giggling, and Jane's face was beet red. Damn kids! They were old enough to know of such things, but not enough to care!

"Well, uh...nope," I finally replied.

That chatter started again once more, thank Jovi. Jane smiled gratefully at me over the kids' heads. She looked real pretty when smiling, I realised.

My stomach grumbled, and I looked to the pots. Sammo barged in through the door, dreadlocks a-swinging.

"Dinner time!" he proclaimed. We immediately rushed for the pots.

"Sorry, Corvin. It's your turn, and it's getting dark," he grimaced to a gangly boy as he passed by. "Up the lights, buddy."

The poor kid groaned and slouched over to a bicycle, which was festooned with all manner of Ancient gizmos. The hidden electrics and dynamos covered the wheels gave a tired screech, then started whirring and humming. The lights overhead slowly flickered to life.

Sammo scooped some broth into a chipped white bowl marked _'Corvin'_ and set it aside. He stepped aside, and the scrum of kids – Jane included – then descended on the pots. He handed a plastic bowl to Jane over the kids' heads, and came over and pushed one in my hands.

"That's yours. You know how to write, eh?" he asked.

"A bit," I admitted.

I could read better than I wrote, but even that wasn't much. I could manage my name though. I continued watching the electricity-making bicycle in fascination.

"Amazin', innit?" Sammo commented. He clapped me on the shoulder, all chummy. On his finger he whimsically spun his own blue bowl. "Some Ancient tech multiplies the wheels' motion, so we only need one guy to power the entire building. I heard the same gizmos do that for them laser guns some of the PDS fellas use, 'cept that it's for light instead. That true?"

I immediately sobered, thinking of that bastard Grevan shooting Marc with his infernal laser pistol.

"Dunno. But I heard that too," I answered truthfully. "Ain't sure if that's true, but it sounds pretty complicated, so it's probably right."

Our heads turned as Jane laughed merrily, in the middle of a gaggle of younger girls. She was already making friends, all laughter and smiles. I snorted bemusedly as the little girls let down her chestnut hair, inspecting it. I had no idea what went through their heads, and I didn't think I wanted to.

"Line's gone, let's get our share," Sammo said.

The soup had been drained nearly all the way to the bottom. I tipped the pot a bit for Sammo as he scooped his share out. He did the same for me.

"Sorry if it's a bit burnt," he remarked apologetically, as we retreated to an empty corner of the room. "But beats nothing, right?"

"Mmmph." I drained the bowl in one big gulp. "Nice and flavoursome, that was. And don't worry, Sammo. There's always the Tyrant's cellars to raid! I'm sure he won't mind, as long as he doesn't know!"

We laughed heartily at that.

"So you two Ginas folk?" Sammo asked, licking his bowl clean.

"That's right. Orphanage Eighteen, north part of Ginas." I looked wistfully at my bare bowl.

"Is life in the city good? My ma used to always talk about moving there."

"Hmm..." I mused contemplatively. "It's alright. Can't really tell you though, since I was cooped up in the orphanage."

"You make your orphanage sound like hell, Lister." He scratched his nose absently.

"It was boring," I said straight away.

"I'll take your word for it then," Sammo replied.

We talked for a while more, until my eyelids began to feel heavy. I rubbed my eyes in vain. Finally, I could take it no more.

"Hey, you mind if I go to sleep? I'm dead tired," I yawned.

"Sure thing, buddy." Sammo pointed down the hall, to door marked in blue lettering. It read _'Boys'_. "Two doors down, to the right. That's my room. Just crash in the empty bunk."

I nodded groggily, staggering to the door. I looked back, to the chattering, frolicking kids, the sunny light, Jane, Sammo...

I felt contentment stir in my heart. Was this what home felt like?

Jane spotted me and waved, a huge grin on her face. I smiled back as I went through the doorway.

Two doors down, to the right, wasn't it?

I opened the door. On the left was a messy bundle of clothes covering a pallet. To the right...

I groaned blissfully as I collapsed onto the hard yellowy pallet, and fell soundly asleep.

**That's the updated chapter for you! **


	3. Sayre: Raiders of Sayre

**Ok. Third chapter, still no reviews, very discouraging. Oh well, perseverance is a virtue. I would really appreciate some reviews; I'm sure I need to improve my writing.**

It had been two months since I'd first been dragooned into the Sayrean Freedom League, being trained to use of the armoured trucks and the hodge-podge of left-over weaponry that the SFL possessed. Currently we were sitting in the flatbed of the truck, checking and re-checking our weapons in preparation for our first real raid on a supply convoy.

Those things were piloted by a lone servitor drone wired into the driving assembly, which followed a pre-planned path through Sayre's lonely deserts. Only that they weren't lonely any more, with us plundering and scuttling these convoys at a regular basis – which often carried munitions and foodstuffs meant for the Tyrant's war-effort against the Emperor's Imperium. Uncle had referred to the use of the Tyrant's weaponry against his own soldiers as a 'grim irony' in one of his weekly briefings. I had to check a tattered dictionary for the meaning of 'irony' before agreeing with him.

Lately, the Tyrant had stepped up security on the land caravans after we hijacked a few servitor-piloted convoys. It was the news of the plains and out-lands that those so-called 'guards' also pillaged the villages that the convoys passed through. I angrily snapped the clip into my new autogun and turned to the driver's cabin.

"We ready yet, Jane? That convoy's not going to wait forever," I called.

Over the past couple of months Jane had proved to be a brilliant driver – or perhaps one of the two of us who could drive. Most of the kids still couldn't reach the gears and pedals with their feet without monkeying around in the driver's seat, which was also a sure-fire way to crash the three-ton monster that was the truck. I wasn't a great driver either, lacking the nerve and the so-called 'land-sense' to navigate the way through the dunes and hills of arid Sayre. Instead, I was put in charge of five kids in our truck by the sole virtue of my age and height by a mischievous Sammo. I could see him waving from the driver's seat in the other truck. I jerked my head in his direction in reply.

"Hang on, Lister. I'm going to hot-wire this heap of junk. Ignition's failed again. Um, was it red-blue-green or red-green-blue?" Jane yelled, head underneath the wheel. Her brown eyes flicked towards me. "Do want to help, or just stand there gawping?"

I didn't mind gawping at _her_, but that wasn't the point. She was the only girl I had ever really known. But if looks could kill, the glare she continued to give me would have sent me six feet under in two seconds flat.

I sighed and set my autogun down. Everything seemed broken on Sayre. Ironic – since it once had been an Ancient industrial hub that produced all manner of mechanical gadgets. I guess when the Ancients finally noticed that the untreated water had turned fluorescent yellow and the fish had three heads because of all their factories they'd just packed up and left, leaving a dirty, near-dead ball of rock behind. I clambered into the driver's seat, pressing up against Jane in the confined space.

"Didn't the manual say red-blue-green?" I asked, as I passed her the red lead. Grinning impishly, I continued, "Great driver you are, Jane. One of the kids could to better, or maybe a drunk Sammo."

She smiled back, which I was starting to like. Her eyes lit up like the stars at night. "Buddy, those kids need baby seats to see over the dashboard. And Sammo drunk, I wouldn't trust further than he can shoot," she shot back, referring to Sammo's unfortunate habit of firing two autoguns at the same time, whooping and yelling all the time – yet never hitting anything, not even the fifty metre long caravans we raided.

"Well, that's my point," I replied sardonically. "You see – yow!"

My body jerked back instinctively as she dug me in the ribs, bashing my head against the glove-box. I swore as I rubbed at the stinging patch of scalp.

Jane snorted, raising an eyebrow. "Ha! That's what you get buddy, for being useless and Lister-ish," she remonstrated, face drawn in a mock-severe manner. She looked like a supervisor back at the orphanage like that. Though a very pretty supervisor, mind you.

I draped my left arm over her. "Jane, I'm so...getting you back!" With that my arm slid down to the side of her midriff. She squealed as my fingers began to tickle her relentlessly, but in a few seconds she began to fight back. Dammit! I always lost these matches! A stray hand accidentally bumped the tangle of wires.

_Zak!_ The leads sparked and the engine grumbled to life. We grinned at each other and I scrambled out of the cabin. It was a draw this time.

"Let's rock'n'roll, people!" Jane called out from the driver's seat. We all cheered from the back of the truck. I waved over to Sammo's truck, which he returned with an enthusiastic thumbs-up as his truck lurched forwards.

And we were off. I looked about as we bumped and rumbled over the rocky and uneven terrain. Overhead, a stream of trader ships fled Ginas, terrified by the Imperium's imminent invasion. The spaceports would be bursting as Ginas' citizens tried to flee from their homes, spooked by the dread rumours of the space marines.

Over the weeks I had heard countless stories of their infamous exploits. They hailed from the old motherland – Earth, and their Emperor was a giant ten-feet tall. Each space marine was a giant himself, wearing a suit of Ancient tech-armour and a cannon that brought death with every shot. I shuddered as I recalled the tale where a marine slaughtered a crowd by spitting fire on them, burning out their eyes and brains.

"When they comin', Lister?" asked Corvin, the gangly youth from the bicycle generator, who was around thirteen years old. His crooked buck teeth jutted out over his bottom lip, but nobody seemed to care.

"Dunno, Corvin. I heard from Sammo that their scout ships have already arrived in-system, but he was drunk," I replied, not bothering to mention the underpants on his head at the time. Corvin nodded and went to check his stuff. I turned to the others.

"Any of you know when they're coming?" I asked them.

"A few weeks, wasn't it?" piped up Arlen, a diminutive girl of eleven. I still couldn't believe she could handle an autogun. She was too young, but the SFL had other ideas.

"No, I heard in a week," called out Ryain, as he checked the stubbers welded to the tops of the truck's armour plates.

"They'll get here when they get here," muttered a sardonic Welk, as she rubbed the huge scar that ran horizontally from cheek to cheek on her face. "And the Tyrant will finally get his arse kicked."

A knock from the driver's cabin broke the conversation. I leant over and pulled aside the grille that separated the front from the back.

"There's the caravan! Get ready everyone, we're going on the biggest gig of our lives!" yelled Jane, gunning the engine.

The truck began to shake wildly as we accelerated towards the unsuspecting caravan. I peered over the top of the cabin, greeted by the sight of the glittering lights of a Ginasian caravan several kilometres distant, bedecked with guards and sentry guns. _Clack, clack, clack._ My crew behind me were readying their guns and weapons for the fight. I felt my mouth go dry at the thought. _The fight_. Tonight, we were going to be shot at.

The radio suddenly crackled to life, and Sammo's voice filtered through the static. "We're gonna flank 'em! My people to its left, yours to the right. Just do a drive-by, spray the caravan's top with the stubbers! Jovi go with ya' everyone!"

I flicked the On button for my radio. "Got it, Sammo. But that caravan looks hard as hell," I yelled into the receiver. Caravans resembled massive trackless trains, fifty metres long and three metres high, and armoured to protect its contents from the harsh weather of Sayre – and marauders. I gritted my teeth painfully as I tried to beat down the cold terror pulsing in my chest.

"Leave the sentry guns to me, buddy! We dug up a heap o' Ancient gear the other day, and there's these bombs that kill electrici'y! Watch!" Sammo gleefully proclaimed over the radio.

Two hundred metres away from the caravan, the guards finally opened fire. We hurriedly ducked behind the armour plates and the driver's cabin, the bullets pinging off the metal and ferro-glass. I gestured over to my crew, and we crawled over to the stubbers on the left side of the flatbed.

"From the free people with love!" laughed Sammo over the radio, as I saw a figure lean out of the other truck and throw several black balls at the caravan, then abruptly was smashed down as he connected with a hail of bullets. Jovi go with them.

For a moment the world held its breath, and then the caravan erupted in a storm of purple lightning, the arcs coruscating and writhing about on its surface.

"Go!" I yell at Jane. We slalom over beside the immobile caravan, and we pulled the triggers of our guns. Over the roar of the stubbers and the flash of the muzzles I saw the figures of the guards being raked down by our punishing volley. Bullets whipped past my hair as we continued our destructive course down the caravan. Suddenly, Ryain cried out and slumped over his stubber, his chest a bleeding mess.

"Keep shooting, I'll help him!" I shouted at my crew. I gave the caravan deck one last desultory sweep and crawled over to Ryain. He was sobbing as his lifeblood drained out of him, his normally tanned features reduced to a ghastly white. I shook him roughly and yelled at him to stay with me, to stay for a little longer, that there'll be medicine on the caravan, and that we know how to make him better. But I don't. None of us do.

And then Ryain gave one last whimper and crumpled, a broken rag doll playing soldier, down onto the bloodied floor. Gone. The rest of my crew clustered around us, mourning; the fight long over, with Sammo's crew clambering onto the caravan and finishing any of the survivors.

I felt a touch on my shoulder, and I turned to see Jane, who looked ready to cry again. I squeezed her hand reassuringly, and stood. Silently, I made this vow to myself, to always stand and fight tyranny and oppression wherever it was, and to avenge the fallen.

Sammo's voice cut through my thoughts, as the caravan's reprogrammed servitor lifters approached our truck, loaded with goods and weapons. I sadly pulled Ryain's cooling body into the seat next to Jane's and strapped him in tightly, a prayer on my lips. Even in death, he looked so tranquil, as if he were only sleeping.

I imagined Ryain waking in Elysia Plains of the afterlife, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes in wonder. He would stand, and stumble across the grass, where all was fresh and plentiful and the hardships of life were all eased. Across the heavens he would wander towards a distant noise of aching beauty, to come across a crowd a billion strong, made up of all the departed ones that had been granted entrance into heaven.

The music would stop for a moment, but the lights around Jovi's stage would grow brighter with an ethereal intensity. Jovi himself would descend from the stage to put an arm around Ryain, and guide him gently up into the light.

"Here is a brave man worthy of you all," Jovi would proudly announced to the audience. And to their thunderous applause they would play rock'n'roll for all eternity...

I wiped away an unbidden tear that threatened to fall. Jovi would look after Ryain.

"Let's go, Jane," I say quietly through the grille as the last servitor delivered its load onto the truck. "Let's get outta here."


	4. Sayre: To save the Saviours

Sammo called a halt about twenty kilometres away from the gutted caravan, which Jane wearily obliged. The trucks were parked in a shaded gulley and swathed in brown canvas, which in the fading daylight blended in perfectly with the rocky ground. After making sure that Ginasian fliers couldn't spot us, we unstrapped Ryain's body and sadly hauled him over to a pathetic couple of small, forlorn figures wrapped in white.

"Him, too? Oh, damn, damn," groaned Sammo, all traces of exhilaration and machismo gone. He sat down heavily in the dirt and dumped his guns to one side. We all followed suit and sat in a morbid silence.

After a few minutes, Jane angrily broke the silence.

"Why does the 'noble' SFL send children to fight their wars?" she railed. "Why don't the adults do the dirty work themselves? Ryain, or Corr-or Tym, they didn't even start living yet."

Sammo sighed. "They do fight, Jane. They take on the 'eavy stuff, the sabotage-even the military columns when they cross the desert. It's just-just that they don't 'ave enough people. So they send the older kids to 'elp-to learn, so the toughest will be the next leaders of the League when the time comes," he remarked jadedly. "'ell, I'm the oldest 'kid' in the SFL. Haven't you realised? I'm a failure. I get my people killed. Any other nineteen year old person in the League is out there fighting the military with the adults."

That was a shock to me. I always thought Sammo was invincible – the type that just swaggered through life with a laugh and a ethano bottle in one hand, ignoring all of life's proverbial pitfalls. The others sat in mute silence, staring at everything and nothing in particular. I don't even think they heard Sammo. He stood up jerkily, and gestured towards the three bodies vaguely.

"We gotta bury them, Welk, Corvin, Sefan, help me with this," he said over his shoulder as he trudged over to the trucks to get the shovels. "The others, just...just chill."

The other kids separated into their own groups. I felt Jane tug at my sleeve as she stood up. I nodded and took her hand as she led me up the pebble-strewn slope of the small valley. We stumbled and slipped in the murky light of dusk.

We walked out of the gulley onto a stony ridge above, and settled down under a withered tree. I threw my jacket down on the ground as a rug and we leaned our weary backs against the tree.

"Lister, I was just thinking about – about death," murmured Jane as she absently played with her hair. "You know, when I saw Ryain go, I started thinking about what happens after – and where we go and all."

"I dunno, Jane. Bon Jovi once said it's your life," I said quietly, quoting some scripture. "And that its now or never. You ain't gonna live forever, so why think waste time thinking about death while you're still alive? Yeah, it scares me too, it's like space, Jane, big and empty. Even the Ancients couldn't conquer it."

"Hmmm..." she murmured absently. "That makes sense, I guess. You think Ryain will be alright?"

"I bet he's looking down at us and laughing at us moping over him," I replied, trying to smile. "Jovi'll look after him, I know it."

She perked up a little at that, then clutched my arm. "Promise me you'll wait," she said urgently, eyes burning into mine.

"Wait where?" I asked.

"Wait at Elysia Fields for me. I'll wait for you if – if I go first. Promise!" Her hands had my arm in a death grip.

I nodded. "Deal," I answered. She hugged me fiercely in reply.

We both looked up to the glittering panaroma of the night sky, the sun finally set. Somewhere out there was the Imperium, with their gargantuan battle fleets, their wondrous technology, their countless armies and space marines, their immortal Emperor, all converging on little Sayre. Ever wonder what it was like to stare at a speeding truck's headlights as a grox? That was it. It seemed like the whole galaxy was abandoning Sayre, as the merchant ships continued to flee out of the atmosphere. Man, this was depressing.

"So what do you want to do after this whole mess is over, Jane?" I queried, trying to lighten the mood.

"Dunno, always thought of settling down and helping the orphans. It was crap back at the orphanage, remember? I'll help the lost kids, give them hope. A normal, good life," she announced passionately. "Yeah, you only have one life, so everyone ought to make a difference. How about you?"

"Me? I'm not much of a responsibility guy. Never was. Couldn't even look after myself. Probably be a nobody after the Imperium takes over, maybe a spacer in their fleets or on some trader," I snorted. "Hey, remember back at the orphanage, the guy called Spencer? The fella who kept trying to masturbate through a hole in his pocket?"

Jane erupted in a fit of sniggering. "Only you would be interested in that! All I remember all you little boys were best friends with your right hands," she taunted, eyes amused and glittering.

I reach over and poke her hard in the ribs. "Girl, I like my right hand very much," I declare, right eyebrow arched in a mock-supercilious way. Damn! The girls noticed us? I hope they can't read minds too.

She smiled for a moment, then the happiness faded.

"Man, Lister, what do you think happened to them?" she asked, eyes suddenly sad. "Wasn't it our entire year's intake that was drafted? I hope they're going to be alright. There has to be better sergeants than Grevan in the Planetary Defence Service, they can't be all bad. I hope the space marines will spare our friends."

My mouth tightened involuntarily at the sound of Grevan's name. That bastard. That scum. I sincerely hoped one of the space marines would give him a ceramite enema. Or better still, I could emasculate him slowly with a blunt spoon and feed it to him before that.

"I hope they'll be safe. I dunno, but maybe the space marines will spare them. But I hope Grevan won't be," I replied, glad that we had run before they finally came. I suddenly felt a pang of guilt for our orphanages mates we had to leave behind.

Jane leaned softly on my shoulder. "That day... I never thanked you for that, did I?" she remarked softly, smiling up at me. "Where are my manners? How should I thank you?"

An odd heat stirred in me, dirty thoughts criss-crossing my mind. Man, the holo-vids were nothing compared to the real thing. Or so I hoped.

"Dunno, any way you like," I managed to croak out, feeling lobotomised and sixty percent dumber. I remember hoping my face wasn't too red, and that she couldn't see it clearly in the gloom.

Then she did a thing I'd remember for the rest of my life. Slowly, hesitantly, she stretched up and kissed me on the lips, her scent washing over me, the warm softness of her lips brushing mine. I must have blacked out after that, because a moment later I was flat on my back looking at the sky, and she had stopped kissing me.

"Ah, ah, thanks. Yes, that was, ah-nice," I stuttered, desperately trying to salvage what remained of my cognitive abilities. _Was this love?_ I wondered.

"Keep doing that and you'll end up being kissed all day," she smiled shyly.

Man, the orphanage taught us mechanical chemistry, but they never taught us the real chemistry of life.

I decided to make a bold move. "Maybe you'll bail me outta some crap one day Jane," I replied. "And I'll have to kiss you."

She beamed. "I'd like that," she laughed enthusiastically. "That would –"

I never found out what she said next. The sky suddenly lit up, contrails of fire burning white hot against the night sky. _Like comets_, I thought. They were coming down! I focused on the one that seemed closest, a brilliant incandescent white speck, screaming an eagle's hunting cry as it shrieked its flaming course across the night sky. Jane and I jumped up, ready to run.

And then, as if in irreverent homage to these scintillating visitors, the horizon erupted ablaze as missiles and tracers leapt from their projectors and traced their deadly trajectories towards the bright objects. I heard shouts from back in the gulley as Sammo and the others beheld the awesome spectacle.

"Space marines! The space marines are 'ere!" Sammo was joyously yelling. "Those are the drop-pods the trader was tellin' me about!"

So, the ten-foot tall gods were finally joining the fray. But the drop-pod launch seemed awfully small, with only seven fading streaks painted across the starry sky. Was there something wrong? I turned to a euphoric Sammo, who had produced another bottle of ethano and was now toasting the sky above.

"How many pods did the trader say usually came down?" I asked, deadly serious.

"What? Oh, 'undreds. 'uge flying machines as well. Oh crap! Jovi damn, there were only a few!" he cried, smacking his forehead. He turned to Corvin. "Listen in on the military channels, man. They might need our 'elp."

Our help? _Our_ HELP? If three metre tall gods of war couldn't handle something, what were a bunch of kids going to do? Probably they'd end up helping us.

"Sambora Flats tank yards! The Ginasians are reporting that the space marines landed there! Oh, Jovi, they say that they've got it under control!" called Corvin from the radio. A ripple of panic went through our ranks. Space marines in trouble? Under control? The Imperium seemed a whole lot more smaller.

"I say we go, people! We said we'd help the Imperium. We've got them Ancient 'lectric-killer bombs, we've got the guts, we've got the brains!" Sammo declared, fist raised triumphantly. "We can stall those tanks long enough for us to get the space marines out, and pay 'em back for today. Who's with me?"

Silence greeted the end of his speech. Aw hell, someone's got to stand up. I stepped forwards.

"I'll do it," I said quietly. Turning back towards a frightened Jane, the touch of her lips still burning on mine, I said to her, "You said we ought to make a difference. This is it, Jane."

She nodded, and together with the rest of the small group stepped forwards. Sammo clapped me on the back and turned towards our motley bunch of desperadoes, and in front of everyone, threw down his ethano bottle.

"I won't mess up this time, I swear on Bon Jovi," he announced, in a deep voice that declared utter sincerity. "Move out, everyone! We've got some space marines to meet!"

Here we go, the most moronic act of our lives. Right into the jaws of the entire Ginasian military to find the space marines. To save our saviours – and try not to get blown up.


	5. Sayre: The Legionnes Astartes

"This is Sambora Flats," announced Sammo, poking his knife at a crude rectangle drawn in the dirt, and scattered some rocks next to the rectangle. "This is our escape route." He then drew a line leading into the rectangle with a finger, and said, " And this is the road we use to get into the compound."

"Isn't that their front door?" asked Jane, a slight frown creasing her forehead.

"Yeah," Sammo grinned, as he pointed towards the trucks. "We're gonna dress up with the stuff we looted off the guards from the caravan."

A doubtful silence hung over our ragged group. I could see the logic in Sammo's thinking though. Barely.

"So, ah, what's in the rectangle?" I query, finally realising it was blank. This 'rescue' didn't look like it would end well.

Sammo looked put out for a second, then rallied.

"Um, didn't think 'bout that, did I? Tanks? Tank shelters? A re-fuelling depot, there should be," he mused. "Some guard towers, the standard array of stubbers, maybe laser projector emplacements."

Oh Jovi, not lasers. Not laser projectors especially. Back when we were still stuck in the Planetary Defence Service, we had attended a test-firing of some new laser projectors. Basically it was a huge laser rifle on a tripod, the innards similar to the rifle and the concept exactly the same, except on a far bigger scale. One projector could produce a gargantuan beam of light that could slice through rock, armour and human alike with contemptuous ease. The trucks were scrap if one ever targeted us. I wondered how the space marines would fare. Probably like cans to a can-opener.

"We need a distraction," suggested Corvin. "Why don't we blow the fuel depot, if there's one? Plenty of smoke that way."

Sammo nodded in approval. "We collected some promethium drums from the caravans. When we drive in, we'll dump the drums and set 'em alight," he said. "Some big explosions, then lots of smoke. 'opefully we can burn down some of the facility while we're at it."

"It's a tank yard. You sure we can neuter the tanks long enough to get those marines out?" asked Welk.

"Yeah, was thinkin' 'bout that. My truck'll do circuits of the yard, and we'll keep chucking those electric killing bombs. Lister, your truck will get them space marines out, so you'll be taking the promethium barrels with you," instructed Sammo. "All good? Righto, lets get dressed and make the trucks look like PDS vehicles."

Half an hour later, after the grisly task of sorting through the bloodstained guard uniforms to find the least bullet-ridden clothes and reversing the painted armour plates on the trucks, we finally took off in the direction of Sambora Flats tank yards. My uniform stunk of viscera and death, and the bolt action rifle I was now clutching bumped against my knees. Thank Jovi for the autoguns we had stashed behind the truck's plating, for when the time came. We had to take the stubbers down however, since no Ginasian military truck had stubbers welded to their sides. I took the time we had on the road to consider ours chances of survival. Out of ten, I guessed it was hovering around two, maybe one-and-a-half. Why the hell was I doing this? I wasn't a hero. I was some kid playing soldier and pirate, acting it tough. I'd probably end up like Ryain; dead with holes in my chest. Still, it beat actually fighting _against_ the space marines. The choice was like having to choose between either getting castrated or dying. Both weren't beneficial to one's health.

"ETA one minute," snapped Sammo over the radio, trepidation killing all good humour in his voice. "Try cover the bloodstains everyone, PDS uniforms aren't red, ha."

It seemed like a moment later, but we were at the gates. A tired soldier ran up to greet us.

"Reinforcements? That's great! Get your guns up and start shooting at the space marines! They're dead hard, but we've nabbed some of them already," he called up to the silent bulk of our trucks. I guess seeing a mix of prepubescent children and teenagers brandishing guns would have struck anyone as a little suspicious, so we kept our heads down.

The soldier waved us through, and our trucks crept towards the commotion in the middle of the yards. I peeped over the driver's cabin, hoping that no one spotted me. A missile flew over my head, as a rocket projector fired it into the rubble-strewn crater created my the drop pod. My eyes followed it, and there, I saw my first space marine. From a distance he seemed only an armoured man crouching behind a pile of rocks, with massive pauldrons and a grim snarl of a helmet. His armour was a dirty off-white, no doubt from the hours spent fighting. Bullets sparked off his dented cuirass as he returned fire with a bulky gun whose thunderous report rang over the din of the battle.

"Let's roll, people! Freedom and justice! Freedom and justice!" came Sammo's adrenalin-filled voice, while his truck leapt into action, straight at a row of tanks. I banged on the driver's cabin to Jane, and we ditched our rifles and picked up our autoguns. I watched as Sammo's truck skidded behind the row of tanks and a cluster of black objects were flung out, their violet discharges scintillating and crackling. His truck continued, speed and fury abated, to proceed to knock out the rest of the haplessly unaware tanks.

"Go, Jane! Go!" I cried. Our truck lurched forwards towards the marines' position. I nodded to Welk as we readied our knives to free the promethium barrels from their tethers, and our blades slashed down as one.

"Look out!" yelled Corvin, the heavy barrels tumbling past us and clanging onto the ground.

"Shoot!" I roared at my crew, spraying the barrels with hot metal. For a moment, nothing happened, the white-hot autogun rounds seemingly doing nothing to the drums. One barrel abruptly exploded, the fireball filling my vision as I threw myself down hard onto the hot steel floor at the bottom of the truck. _Boom! Boom! Boom!_ The rest also exploded in an all-incinerating encore, the conflagration outshining even the searchlights in the early morning twilight. We gave a loud cheer as oily, viscous black smoke began to obscure the world, and Jane turned the truck towards the marines' position.

"We're friends! Friends!" I hollered at the armoured figure as it turned to fire on us. I breathed a sigh of relief as he gave a slight bow in our direction and lowered his weapon.

I leapt off the truck post-haste and ran towards the space marine. Then stopped. Jovi, he was _big_. Massive. His red eyelenses glowed crimson as he stiffly regarded me from at least two feet above my head. I realised he could not turn his head in his armour.

"Uh, you're a space marine, right?" I tentatively inquired. My crew watched from the relative safety of the truck.

The marine seemed to deliberate on this question for a moment, and then I heard a small click from behind the face grille, and he replied in metallic tones, "Yes. And you are?"

"I'm-I'm Lister. There are more of you, right? I stammered, peering around the choking smoke.

Another click. "Affirmative. My captain, but of my other battle-brothers, they have fallen," came the taciturn reply. The voice seemed synthesised. No one talked like a servitor-unless they were one. He strode off into the smoke and I scurried after him.

"Hail, brother Talaris. What's the situation?" called a more natural-sounding voice in front of us.

We walked forwards, and I regarded another space marine. Although just as impressive as the first, this one was missing an arm and had deep gouges in his leg from tank shells and shrapnel. His armour sported several gold decorations, which I guessed signified his rank. He shifted on the ground as he tried to move to lean on another rock.

"A native, brother-captain," came the robotic voice. "He brings aid. I believe tha-"

He never finished his sentence. A blinding beam of light seared its way through the smoke, smashing through the back of the space marine's backpack and right through his helmet, and continued on to clip the injured captain in the head. The now-dead marine slowly crumpled to the ground, the ground shaking as his gargantuan bulk toppled onto the ground. Jovi damned laser projectors!

"Lascannons. Cowards," spat the captain as he tore off his ruined helmet. "Brother Talaris, may your sacrifice be remembered in the halls of glory," he intoned wrathfully, and turned to me.

I jerked in shock as I regarded a scarred, block-jawed face, a visage more marred and grim than the helmet he had worn. The only human features familiar were his piercing blue eyes and cropped brown hair, and a nose broken countless times.

"I need to get out of here. You have transport, correct?" he growled at me, firing his pistol blindly into the smog.

"Yup," I replied. "What's your name, before we both get blown up?"

I really couldn't control my mouth sometimes. The crap just spewed out before I could stop it.

"Captain Alaris, 24th Company of the Luna Wolves of the Legionnes Astartes," he announced proudly, banging his breastplate in salute. I only had time to hear the 'asstarties' before I was knocked to the ground by a tank shell blast. Groggily, I got up again and motioned to the captain.

"Mr Ass-tartie, we gotta truck, follow me," I mumbled as I shakily walked back in the direction that we came. After a moment I realised that he wasn't following me.

"My legs are broken," the marine remarked calmly when I found my way back. "I cannot move. You'll need to move me, or leave me here."

Man, the guy was too heavy for me to lift myself. I had to get help from the rest of my crew.

"Be back in a sec, buddy!" I shouted, and scrambled back to the truck. I climbed onto the flatbed and tapped Corvin on the shoulder.

"I need you to grab the space marines' guns! We'll move the truck to the marine, you meet up with us!" I yelled into his ear over the noise. He nodded and sprinted off in the direction of one of the hulking corpses.

I moved to the driver's cabin next and stuck my head in. "Jane, could you move the truck fifty metres up, straight ahead!"

She nodded and leaned on the accelerator. "How many we picking up?" she asked.

"One, but he's wounded so we gotta lift him," I answer. We duck as bullets slice through the smoke. Damn, it was clearing fast as the fuel burnt out. We'd best hurry.

The truck grumbled over to the invalid marine. I turn to the others and gesture at them to get off and help. We clustered around the marine and stared doubtfully down at him. He was looking heavier by the second.

"Alright. One, two , three!" I instructed as we bent down to lift him, all five of us.

Nothing. The marine didn't shift one bit. "Try again!" I said, sweat pouring down my forehead. Reach down. Lift. And...fail. The guy was simply too heavy.

"I suggest that you people get away," declared the marine, oblivious to his suggested fate. "I am a space marine. None of us dies of old age. It would be an honour to die in a battle against such odds."

"Bull. We came in here to get you out, so we're doing it," snapped Jane, eyes blazing. "We didn't dodge a dozen tanks and risk our lives for kicks, ya know."

Man, that girl can be scary sometimes. The crew seemed to agree with her, heads nodding in assent.

Corvin came running up to us. "I finished loading the marines' guns onto the truck. Jovi, they're heavy as lead!" he announced, looking exhausted. An irritated frown crossed the captain's forehead momentarily, then disappeared.

Suddenly, I had a brainwave. "Jane, do we still have those towing chains on the truck?" I asked. "We can drag our marine friend along."

She ran back to check. "Yeah!" she called, dragging three lengths of heavy chain out of the flatbed, and fixed them onto their respective moorings on the tail bar. That girl was a godsend.

"Right, Welk, loop this chain around his right shoulder as many times as possible-I want him as close to the truck as possible. Arlen, you do his left, same thing. I'll put the last one around his waist. The rest of you get ready to leave," I directed. It was a difficult task, seeing as we had to continually duck to avoid bullets, and the shoulder loopings were hindered by his cumbersome shoulder pads.

Finally it was done. I gave his right pauldron a light punch. "Hope your ass-plate is up to scratch, Mr Ass-tartie!" I yelled over my shoulder as I scrambled onto the truck. "Let's get outta here Jane!"

The engine roared and the wheels grumbled as they dug into the blasted rubble. I looked back to our new passenger to check if he was secure. He was. The marine was impassively checking his pistol and reloading it single-handedly, while sparks flew underneath him as the armour grated against concrete. The stump of his right arm was smeared with grit, probably to stop the blood flow. I hoped we had enough litres of antibiotic back at Tommis to treat that afterwards.

"Sammo, we've got our marine! Can we get outta here?" I ask to the radio.

"Man, what took you so long?" he retorted, the _whoop-whoop_ of tank shots and lascannons audible through the radio. "Let's beat it!"

Our truck roared through the smoke, right into a scene of chaos. Half the base was awash with flame, and scattered tanks either sluggishly pursued Sammo's speeding truck or sat immobile, stunned by Sammo's bombs. A laser beam smashed into one of our wheels, but only melting the thick rubber, thank Jovi.

"I'll get him!" called Corvin excitedly, as he heaved one of the space marines' hand-cannons up and aimed. The marine at the back turned and motioned frantically with his remaining arm.

"Stop! Stop!" he vainly yelled, as Corvin pulled the trigger. _Boo-boom!_ came the two-shot salvo, obliterating all other noise on the battlefield. Corvin was slammed backwards onto the floor with a sickening crack. All the bones in his shoulder were broken, and his arm had been cruelly dislocated. Jovi, the slug used by that gun must be monstrous. No wonder the space marines were so feared.

"Hang on, man!" I said to him as Welk and I gingerly pulled him to one side. Jane accelerated the truck, trying to oust the laser projector operator, but to no avail. The next shot creased one of the armour plates, burning a perfectly circular hole in it and leaving a smell of ionised air in its wake.

"Give me a bolter! Those guns you took! The one that has silver chasing on its surface!" cried the captain from behind. I lifted the silver 'bolter' up from the pile, muscles screaming from the weight, and dropped it off the back in his general direction. He caught it by the barrel, his pistol holstered, and flipped it dexterously-or should I say sinisterly-and aimed it at the laser projector's position.

"Brother Talaris, your vengeance is nigh!" he roared, and in a stentorian reply the bolter spoke, spitting glowing shells that howled towards the enemy position. Its effects were instantly lethal. No. It was death incarnate. I saw the projector operator smashed apart by the slugs, he head literally detonating from one round and his arm flying off as he took another to the shoulder.

"Hahahaha!" came Sammo's manic greeting over the radio, as we howled out of the wrecked compound, with a dozen enraged Ginasian tanks in hot pursuit. This was going to be a long day.

**Sorry if I stop here , people. Writing will go crap if I continue. Ok, remember that these marines are wearing Mark 2 power armour. I've described it as such. Hope you enjoyed it.**


	6. Sayre: Roadkill

**Sixth chapter. Hey, I reached 10000 words! Would really love some feedback from the community. Hope you people enjoy this chapter. **

I took the few moments of relative calm to study the enemy tanks pursuing us. They tended be of the tracked variety, the two treads several metres across to cope with even the loosest sands of dusty Sayre. Indeed, the bottom was mostly treads, their fronts protected by a thick glacis plate that made the tanks look like they had giant bumpers welded on. A few had spikes protruding from the front, in the hope that enemies would inexplicably get the urge to abandon their own vehicles and charge the tanks with their fists. Not likely. I racked my memory for their name. Desert Vipers, that was it. Ten metres in length, four in width, crowned with a rotating cannon turret that spat solid shells the size of a person's head. No sponsons of course, as they would have detracted from the already light armour that the Vipers needed to move so quickly. At least nine were of this model, the rest were armoured trucks with ten to twelve wheels, very similar to our own.

I ducked as the shells started flying, the tanks unable to get a fix on Jane's careening course through the boulder-strewn maze that Sammo had indicated. Our Imperial passenger at the back sat calmly; taking potshots at the tanks with his bolter, oblivious to the fact that his arse plate was gouting sparks from contact with the rocky terrain. Welk was busy trying to weld back on the stubbers we had taken down, ignoring the bucking of the truck as she continued her frantic work.

_BOOM!_ The boulder next to us detonated in a violent eruption of sharp rock and dirt. I felt a piece slice through my cheek, leaving a warm, stinging sensation as its heat cauterised the cut. The others fell over from the shock, and Corvin screamed and bucked as his mangled shoulder crunched against the sides of the truck.

"They're getting smarter, Jane!" I yell frantically into the grille, banging on the side of the driver's cabin. "How the hell do we get rid of the bastards?" Meanwhile, Sammo's truck was pulling ahead, unhindered by a cumbersome ceramite anchor that was a space marine.

I don't know how he heard us, but he was a god, so that probably explained it. "Did the boy take the rocket launcher?" he called from the back, booming off another shot with his weapon. I noticed a few tank commanders slumped dead at their stations, their heads non-existent from the explosive bullets the space marine used. The rest of the tanks now had buttoned-up, wary of our passenger's avenging wrath.

I rummaged around the pile of space marine weaponry we had collected, which the crew had avoided like the plague after Corvin's disastrous mishap with the bolter. There! A massive tube-like device, festooned with a plethora of crude X's-no doubt the many kill markings the marine had amassed. A bandolier of rockets was wrapped around the rocket, daubed with mocking slogans such as 'FROM TERRA WITH LOVE!' and 'WELCOME TO THE EMPEROR'S WARM EMBRACE'. Stumbling as the truck rolled over some loose shale, I dragged the ponderous weapon over to the end of the truck and prepared to pitch it over the side to the marine.

"Watch out Lister!" screeched Arlen as a glowing shell howled towards me, the painted fanged mouth visible despite its speed. I dived down frantically, fearing it was too late. The shell passed over me, agonisingly broiling the side of my face. I screamed as it exploded a few metres from the truck, clutching my face in pain. For a few seconds I blacked out, the pain unbearable. After a moment I slowly got back up, the burn throbbing mightily and my head spinning.

"Lister, Lister! You alright?" Jane's concerned voice rang from the grille of the driver's cabin.

"Yeah. Fine," I called back, the movement sending my tortured nerves into paroxysms of torment. I bent down a gripped the rocket launcher, preparing to drop it to the space marine. "Mr Ass-tartie! Catch!"

He twisted around as much as he could and nodded to me, slipping the bolter onto his waist. I grunted as I tipped the rocket launcher over the side, hoping the rockets wouldn't explode. They didn't. The captain managed to grab the rocket and hastily pulled off the bandolier, attaching the rockets to his belt seemingly by magic. Must have had a magnetic strip. He awkwardly hefted the rocket launcher on his shoulder with his remaining hand and took aim. We fell silent as we watched, knowing our fate rested on the missiles being able to pierce the thick hides of the Vipers. The marine's arm tensed, and a rocket shrieked out of the launcher's maw, its fiery contrail marking the tank it was about to hit.

The missile connected with the steel behemoth, disappearing. For a moment, silence. Then the world seemed to heave as the the tank vomited flame from all orifices, the torched fuel and munitions creating an immolating cataclysm. The shredded remnants of the tank flipped over slowly, and crumpled, burning.

"Ohhhh yeah, baby!" I cheered, the crew whooping and laughing, making jeering catcalls at the disorientated enemy. "Go, go, go!" I urged our marine, as he clipped the launcher onto his belt and adroitly slipped another missile into the tube and prepared to fire.

Five more tanks and the rest of the trucks met their ends from the destructive capabilities of the rocket launcher. The space marine was grinning fiercely as he took aim for another kill, when a tank round abruptly connected with the ground underneath our truck and went off. I was suddenly blinded by a choking cloud of pulverised rock, and the truck tipped forwards and upwards, its weight unexpectedly resting on the front two wheels.

"Ahhhhhh!" we screamed as the truck continued its tilt upwards. I distinctly remember the space marine flying up as well, limbs akimbo, flung by the force of the explosion into the air like a rag doll. Thank Jovi the chains securing him held, or else he would have been ceramite paste on the road.

"To the back! Get to the back!" came Jane's panicked cries, as she struggled to right the truck.

"Come on, come-arrghhh!" I yelled as the truck rattled and shook wildly. We scrambled and crawled our way to the back, hoping our meagre weight would force the back of the truck back down. Thankfully it was, as the truck crashed back down with a bone-shaking crunch. Corvin had been knocked unconscious, either from the pain or the truck's wild motions.

"WHAT. THE. HELL!" roared an enraged space marine. I leaned over the end of the the truck, to see only the thrashing legs of the marine visible. The truck's back wheel had landed on the space marine's chest plate, trapping him under the hot rubber and a two-ton truck. The back of the truck was trailed by a long stream of sparks as the entirety of his armour screeched as it scraped over the hard ground. That armour could take anything, I thought. I hurriedly turned towards the driver's cabin.

"Jane! Turn sharply, the marine's stuck under the back wheel!" I shouted over the howling of tank shells and the whooping explosions. The truck performed a near 90 degree skid, momentum flinging the angry marine out from under the wheel and back behind the truck. His once-white armour was a now a collage of dirt and black tyre marks, with a huge dent on his chest where the truck had rolled over him. The white paint on his back was scraped off, the gun-metal grey showing. Worst of all, the missile launcher was gone.

We were screwed, I realised as the tanks cruelly took their time aiming at us. What a bunch of losers.

"What we gonna do Lister?" sobbed Arlen, the prospect of death too much of her. I really didn't know.

The sight of the lethal barrels of the tanks sent terror coursing down my spine, all my bravado evaporated. I felt paralysed for a second, muscles shaking with fear. The others were closing their eyes, mouthing prayers to Jovi and saying goodbye to the world. Even the marine seemed to be joining in, a solemn chant issuing from his lips.

Wait. Wait! The rockets clattered against other on the marine's belt, as if they were cheerfully announcing their intention. "Oi! Oi! Mr Marine! Can't you throw the rockets at the tanks and blow them up?" I cried frantically. The marine clapped his head in annoyance and shifted around, grinning ferally.

"We'll see tomorrow yet!" he bellowed, smashing the blunt of a rocket against the stony ground, releasing a spear of fire. His arm bucked and shook as he kept hold of the lethal missile, taking as best of an aim as he could. "Long live the Emperor!" he cried, loosing the fiery javelin at one of our pursuers. It zipped over the top of the tank, missing it completely and flying off into the sky. The Vipers fired another thunderous salvo as if in mocking salute. The marine gave a guttural snarl of frustration and ripped out another rocket, igniting it and taking aim.

_Shoom!_ The rocket roared out of his hand, this time its trajectory true. Once more it pierced a tank's metal skin, blowing out its contents out the back. The burning remains carried on forwards in a sick parody of its former relentless motion. Mercilessly, the remaining two Vipers rumbled around the wreckage, intent on revenge, their shells ever whipping closer and closer to us.

"Comon, Mr Marine! Do it!" we urged the marine, who slung rocket and after rocket at the elusive pair of tanks. Meanwhile, Sammo's truck had disappeared, as he could do nothing after he had run out of electric-killer bombs. Finally, another rocket transfixed the second last Viper, reducing it to mangled chunks and a shattered end.

Suddenly, our truck sloughed as it pulled clear of the boulder-maze into the shifting sands. We staggered as Jane wrestled with the steering wheel. The marine was repeatedly slamming his rocket into the soft sand, but to no avail. There was not enough friction to set off the igniting mechanism in the missile. Once again, I felt my heart sink to my gut, and my testicles rising up to meet it.

"Hahahaha! We're not done yet, my friends!" the marine cackled. He put the rocket to his mouth and bit hard, ignoring the propellant jet as it furiously seared the side of his face. "For the Emperoooor!" he howled manically, hurling his blazing lance at the last tank. Into the front it went, burrowing through the thick glacis plate, through the body of the driver and into the munitions stack; detonating in an incandescent flash, annihilating the insides and blowing out all the hatches. Slowly, spectacularly, the tank flipped and keeled over, aflame on the desert sands.

We didn't stop cheering for twenty minutes afterwards. It wasn't everyday you outfoxed a dozen tanks and lived to tell the tale.


	7. Sayre: Marines and Humans

**Alien26: You made my day, buddy. I'll certainly keep writing know that I know at least one person's there to read it. Thanks man!**

**Lusca: Thanks man. My writing tends to get worse the longer I write, so I try ration it out into shorter chapters. Maybe I'll condense a few days of writing into a chapter next time. **

"So what was your name again, buddy?" I query the space marine. We had stopped a good distance from where we had left the last tank to burn, fearful of Ginasian retribution. You never know, some of their antiques might have made it out of the museum and got that far. Eventually.

"Astartes Captain Alaris of the Luna Wolves Legion," he replied, a small hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. "And if I ever hear you call me an ass-tartie again I will personally rip your head off..."

He looked so serious that I actually scrambled back. I liked my head a lot, with its arrangement on my neck and all that. The crew sniggered, and finally the marine cracked and started laughing as well. They had feelings? I got the impression from that dead Talaris fella that they were superhuman servitors with a violent bent.

"That was in jest, my young friend," he snorted. "But other Astartes might take umbrage to your comments when they arrive. Take heed, friend. Not all of us are as tolerant of you normals as I am."

"Oh yeah! Where's the rest of you space marines?" Jane asked, poking her head up from the engine she was working on. "I thought your Imperium was conquering the galaxy."

"Ah. The rest of my legion will arrive soon enough. My 24th Company is more of a reconnaissance and raiding formation. Unfortunately we drew the 'honour' of leading this particular invasion," he growled, obviously displeased about the arrangements. "The 24th is much fewer in number compared to the rest of the companies. We had to scatter across the entirety of this accursed dirt-ball to secure or weaken all the objectives."

"So...why did you land in the middle of a tank yard?" I wondered out loud. It seemed the most stupid thing anyone could do.

Captain Alaris sighed and kneaded his forehead. "The original plan was to land a dozen kilometres from the tank yards and destroy the vehicles from a distance. Unfortunately, this planet was once a technological centre of innovation and design in the twentieth millennium. The blasted tracking systems of the Sayrean defence lasers and missile batteries are a testament to that heritage," he grimly replied.

"How you get so busted up?" Arlen shyly asked, still irked by his massive bulk.

"Not many things in the galaxy can track a falling drop pod and coordinate a defence against it. Sayre appears to possess this technology. Well, I guess I must first explain _how_ a drop pod works," he said, gesturing us to sit down. "A drop pod is an orbital insertion device, similar to a life-pod but far more armoured, and not to escape death but to bring death upon the foe. It is used for rapid entry attacks on a planet, often-but not always. These usually launched from strike cruisers that are in low orbit. The payload varies, but it is usually a squad of five Astartes. Retro jets are attached for quick deceleration when the pod nears the ground."

He looked at a group of confused faces, one of them being me. I was understanding one word in three, and the others were as confuddled as me. He didn't seem notice our confusion.

The captain continued on unabated, enthusiasm clearly evident on his scarred face. "With them, a space marine can bring the fight straight to the enemy, destroying potential resistance before it becomes a threat. The drop pod's occupants are usually protected from enemy defences by the pod's sheer speed, as well its thick armour. Most planets we have encountered have not been able to track and fire upon our drop pods. Also, the plasma-ion shield formed by atmospheric entry also means that missiles will normally detonate prematurely due to the extreme heat, sparing the pod's occupants."

"But what happened this time?" interrupted Welk.

"Devious bastards can track them, apparently. Sayrean las technology was once said to be the finest in humanspace. Ironically, I am glad this knowledge has been preserved. It will be of great aid to the Emperor's Great Crusade once this planet has been subjugated," he announced, cracking the knuckles of his one remaining hand. "My drop pod was knocked slightly off course by missiles, and an atmospheric defence las ripped some of the pod off. Brothers Ervyn and Haldor were thrown out - ten kilometres up, rest their souls. The blasted las beam also took off this," he gestured vaguely towards his missing arm, still sealed by its cork of dirt.

"We continued down, the remnants of my squad holding on. Sadly, I fell out myself around a hundred metres to go, which had less than salubrious effects on my well-being," he commented sardonically, pointing at his mangled legs. "They'll heal soon, I think. More than I can say about this arm."

"Don't broken bones take months to heal?" I asked, rather disbelievingly.

"What was that quaint colloquialism of yours? 'Buddy', I'm a space marine. See this arm? I should have bled to death by now. The legs will be fine, we're made of hard stuff. That's why we can use heavier equipment while normal humans can't, as your unconscious friend discovered," he shot back, waving the stump of his right arm at the sedated Corvin. I had to pump him full of a tank of laughing gas before he stopped screaming and kicking. The shoulder looked like it needed surgery.

"Can you really breathe fire? A trader said you could burn through steel with your spit," asked Jane, sparks flying from her saw-work on the engine.

"I'm not a Salamander, if that's what your asking," he said, grinning, as if he had made a hilarious joke. None of us understood, so he continued, "I think I know what you're talking about. Give me that rod you're sawing through."

Jane carefully set down the rotary saw and hefted a thick rod of steel up. Her arms trembled a little as she bore the metre-long rod towards the marine. It was a least six centimetres in diameter, and solid steel.

Alaris picked it like as though he were handling a toothpick. "This is where you want to cut, yes?" he asked, pointing to a shallow line where the blunt buzz-saw can made its pathetic mark. Jane nodded in affirmation.

The marine was still for a second, face contorting as if he had swallowed a sour lemon. With a stomach-churning noise he hawked and spat, the spittle landing on the line. Immediately the metal started to boil and hiss, its substance dissolving into nothing as the marine spit did its job.

"Jovi damn, that's one cool party trick," Jane gasped, taking the now-severed rod back. "Wouldn't want see a space marine riot. All the spit flying around would kill someone."

"Neat, eh? I did that on an Eldar on a boarding mission a few months back, since it was going to put a few holes in me with a spear of his. In space, you know. I blew the airlock as soon as its armour was breached. The stupid xeno practically blew up when the air went out," he commented amusedly.

"Wouldn't you have blown up as well?" I asked the marine, having a rudimentary understanding of physics myself.

"Again, I'm a space marine. We can take it for a short while, though being in vacuum is absolutely atrocious," he answered, fingering a patch of silvery scar tissue.

"Um, what's an Eldar?" piped up Jane. I was going to ask that myself.

"A type of alien. Once ruled the galaxy a billion years ago or something, I heard. No longer, this is the Age of Man now. Anyway, an odd species of xenos. Personally I'd prefer to fight them over other species, since they are actually a challenge to fight, with traps and cunning to match our own. _Nearly_ match us, mind you. Not like some other types of alien trash, where we just line up in a battle line and blow anything up that moves," spoke the captain.

"So are you space marines human?" squeaked Arlen.

"I was just talking about killing xenos girl. Of course I'm human! Mostly. I have more organs than you; those were implanted, and I have a few hundred kilos on you people as well. I was once just Belicos Alaris of Terra, until the marine trials came and I competed," he snapped back, eager to prove his human origins. I guess calling a marine a xeno was a big insult. "That, the armour and the training. That's all that sets us apart."

"So you're made," I state. That was foul, having organs stuck inside of you. I didn't relish the thought of becoming a space marine.

Alaris ruminated on that for a while. "I guess we are. But to the conquer a galaxy the Emperor needed the finest warriors ever to grace a battlefield, men who could face down alien horrors and countless dangers without trembling, fighters who could live through the worst of injuries and laugh them off. We are weapons of war, people."

He suddenly clapped his hands. "Now, to business. Who are you people? Why did you rescue me? And who is your leader?" he demanded forcefully, all business now.

There was an awkward silence for a moment. Then I realised that everyone, Jane included, had turned to look and stare at me. I felt my face glowing red as I realised they thought that _I_ was their leader.

"No way, buddies. I ain't the responsible type. Never wanted to be. You're only looking at me cus' I'm older," I proclaimed, hoping they'd stop glaring at me so intensely.

"Yes you are. Who led us in and out of a Ginasian tank compound? Don't you dare say Sammo, you know he didn't do anything," nipped Jane, her arms crossed. "Who pulled me out of the fire back at the outskirts? Face it Lister, you're made for this leading gig."

"Hey! It was you driving the truck!" I shot back, but I was losing the argument. The others were nodding in agreement with Jane's statement.

I felt a heavy-handed clap on my back, my shoulder bones grating as they absorbed the impact. Alaris was standing next to me, commenting, "Ah, I should have known. The way you carry yourself, you looked like the leader. So, answer my other questions. Who do you fight for?"

The way I _carried_ myself? What did that even mean? On my two feet? Might as well face the music, since the others had elected me boss.

"We are the Sayrean Freedom League, or the SFL, and we fight against the Tyrant of Ginas. The Imperium has had contact with us, and we have agreed to help them," I informed him.

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend, eh? I've heard of you lot, you seem rather small-time I'm afraid," he said disparagingly, ignoring the shocked looks thrown at his direction. "Still, you are my friends, and I have lost my squad, rest their souls. Perhaps we may find a mutually beneficial arrangement if you take me to your base camp."

I nodded. Uncle would know where the marine would be best put to use. Or maybe the marine would direct the action instead, I wasn't sure.

"Sounds good, buddy," I replied. The radio suddenly buzzed to life, Sammo's voice blaring out of the speakers.

"Lister-Lister-come in! You there, man?" his static-mutilated tones dragging me back to reality.

I click on the On button. "Yeah Sammo, we got our marine. We'll meet you back at Tommis, right?"

"Sure thing, Lister. I'll see ya there." The radio clicked off.

"Vox quality isn't too good on Sayre, is it?" asked the marine, and hurriedly added, "Vox is your communication device."

"Yeah, cap'. The chemicals up there are funny," I pointed up at the sky, which had patches of lurid purple in it. Turning back to the crew, I announced, "Alright we're moving out, everyone! Back to Tommis, a good shower and a big meal! Let's roll!"

The crew gave a light-hearted cheer and scrambled to their stations. I turned to the marine.

"I'm sorry Mr Ass-tartie. Your ass-plate is about to suffer again," I informed him mock-sadly.

He gave me his best homicidal glare and tripped me over with one finger.

...

"That's the space marine?" whispered Sammo to me, awe shining from his face. We had met up halfway back to Tommis, and his crew had just had their first glimpse of an Imperial space marine. "He's so damn big!"

I nodded in confirmation, glad to see that all of Sammo's lot had survived relatively unscathed. Sammo himself sported a sharp slice on the side of his face, which he rakishly commented that 'it would scar up nicely'.

"Hey Lister! Sammo's truck had some antiseptic! Lemme do the burns on your face," Jane called from behind Sammo's truck. I had hesitantly checked the burns from the tank shell's flight in the driver's mirror, and they were fairly serious. She had a point. I had seen wounds gone septic, which usually required amputation. I didn't want to have my face or head amputated. Wouldn't be good form.

"Fine, Jane," I hurried over to Jane. "That cream smells terrible. You sure its the right one?"

"Course it is! Look at the label," she shot back, finger pads cool and soothing as they massaged the cream into my abused skin. She leaned closer, her scent filling my nostrils. The dirty images started to leak into my mind again. I coughed awkwardly, trying to banish the thoughts of me and Jane together.

"There! All done," she announced, slopping on the last of the cream.

"Thanks, Jane. Does that warrant saving my life?" I asked, half hoping she'd say no, while the other half called for a yes. She seemed to consider it for a second.

"Don't think so Lister. Didn't know you were so interested in me...," she trailed off, wriggling her eyebrows mock-provocatively. Or maybe provocatively. My years at the orphanage never taught me how to deal with girls, since we were all segregated by gender. She abruptly looked over my shoulder, eyes widening in consternation.

"Lister, what's the captain doing?" Jane pointed at the marine, who was hunched over a tin, seemingly painting on an insignia on his shoulder pad. "And what is he _using_?"

We approached the marine, who was intently dabbing the black stuff on his shoulder. "Eh, cap', what you doing?" I asked.

He looked up and smiled warmly, pointing at his shoulder. "Repainting my legion's symbol. Honour dictates that I do," he replied, indicating the half-finished insignia; a black circle surrounding a wolf's head, which had a white crescent in its mouth. "It was scraped off during the chase." Jane reached for the tin, amusement radiating from her eyes.

"Mr Marine, this is mascara you're using," she drily remarked. The marine looked confused, the word seemingly alien to him. Jane sighed in exasperation and continued, "That's what women use to make themselves look more beautiful."

Alaris looked put out. "Is it hard wearing, though? Will it deny the effects of the elements?" he asked hopefully. "It's hard work painting it on, because it is difficult to reach my shoulders."

Jane giggled. "It runs off with water, cap'. Look, I'll make you some black tar from a bit of axle grease. Now _that_ stuff is impossible to wash off." With that she strode away, taking the tin of mascara with her.

"That Jane of yours is highly resourceful," the captain remarked, when she was out of earshot. "The Emperor only knows why he did not make female space marines."

"She isn't mine," I protested, feeling embarrassed. I was really confused about her, because I wasn't sure if I actually liked her or not. I pushed the thoughts out of my head. Never was very introspective, never will be.

"I am no expert in human mating behaviour, but she seems to be very fond of you," he remarked, what remained of his left eyebrow cocked up. "Perhaps. The vicissitudes of fate are as capricious as the Eldar. If there is one lesson in life that I have learnt, it is to take a chance when it presents itself and never let go."

"You must get a lot of girls, cap'," I replied.

The captain snorted. "Astartes cannot reproduce, Lister. We are the Emperor's blades, and such trivial distractions would simply detract from the war effort. Such things do not interest us."

Wow. Being a space marine _sucked_. I didn't know how they lived with it, knowing that the wimpy little humans on the street had more balls than them. In a literal sense of course, since anyone who straps themselves to a piece of metal and flings themselves into the atmosphere is crazy-brave in my book.

**Hope you enjoyed the random gags in this chapter. For action-fans, never fear! Space marine=tons of fighting. **


	8. Sayre: The Wings of Tyranny

**Colonelwalrus: Thanks for reading man. About time someone noticed Bon Jovi was a god, ha. Oh, and this will continue to the Horus Heresy, but not for a long time! I have no idea whether Lister will be yelling FOR THE EMPRAH! or MAIM KILL BURN! It's something for the future.**

**Clickaholic Anonymous: Thanks for the feedback man. The multiple bolt thing was just because the captain was pissed off, so he filled the lascannon operator with bolts. You had a good point with the rocket launcher issue, so I amended it so he clips the rocket launcher onto his belt while reloading. I hope you find it satisfactory. Oh, and could you quote the bits that are grammatically incorrect or whatnot? I proof-read it again and I couldn't find much. Thanks!**

I opted to sit next to Jane in the driver's cabin for this time, seeing as we weren't doing anything dangerous. Captain Alaris had finally been loaded into the back of the truck, through the combined efforts of both crews to stack enough crates and boxes for the space marine to pull himself up. I looked through the viewing grille to see him checking over his deceased comrades' equipment, cleaning and reloading each as best he could with his one remaining hand.

"What do you think of the space marine?" asked Jane, eyes fixed on the rocky ground ahead.

"He's one scary guy, yeah?" I replied. "But he seems alright to me. Now that other space marine, the one that was killed, he was barely human. Seemed more like he was a servitor who had become a marine."

The radio blared to life, the sound of static filling the cabin. "Hey, Lister? We just cleared the ridge, there's smoke coming from Tommis-way," came Sammo's worried voice. "You'd best tell your crew to arm up, we might 'ave trouble."

"Got it, bud, doing it now," I answered. Turning back to the grille, I yelled into it, "Get ready, people! We might have company!"

I was greeted with a chorus of groans, but the clacking sound of guns being loaded told me they were prepared. I was getting fairly sick of fighting myself. The adrenalin rush and excitement really wasn't worth the risk of getting yourself blown up.

We crossed over the ridge, trailing after Sammo's speeding truck. In the distance, a black plume of smoke rose from what appeared to be once the town of Tommis. Jane turned to me in shock, the ground in front forgotten.

"The damned Tyrant! He burnt Tommis down!" she heatedly exclaimed, pounding the steering wheel.

I nodded in affirmative, lost for words. Over the past few months that burning collection of buildings had been my sanctuary and joy. Even though I had planned to eventually ditch the place after the Imperium had finished invading, I still regarded it as home. I dearly hoped the people there had managed to get out, in particular the kids we had left behind. I prayed to Jovi for their salvation, closing my eyes and muttering out some religious verses.

A harsh, buzzing roar shook me out of my pleas to Jovi. Cries of alarm and terror filtered in through the grille from the back.

"Fliers! Jovi-cursed fliers!" snarled Welk's voice. "They're picking off the survivors! Lister, we gotta rescue them!"

I stuck my head out of the window, hurriedly loading my autogun as well. Knots of survivors were being torn apart by the fliers' cannon-fire, a fine red mist replacing living flesh as cannon shot found its mark. The fliers themselves were bulky contraptions, held aloft by a pair of oversized jets that rotated and pivoted as they effortlessly held the machine up. They were apparently based on the design of an Ancient flying machine that patrolled the skies millennia ago. A single multi-barrelled cannon sat under each cockpit, often spitting fire as they chewed into the panicked survivors of Tommis. I was glad that the missile racks were empty, not doubt expended in the demolition of the town. We would have been grox-hash if they had a single rocket.

Welk's re-welded stubbers opened up, peppering the air with lead. The radio suddenly came to life, Sammo's enraged voice filling the cabin. "Those Ginasian bastards! I'll get the people out, and you blow them outta the sky!"

Made sense, seeing as I had a god sitting at the back. Jane floored the accelerator, circling the few survivors that remained in order to shelter them, cannon bullets sparking off our armoured plating. All the while, the crew poured stubber fire into the sky, occasionally clipping the sides of the fliers. There were about five in all, and several were starting to notice us.

"Aim for the jets, dammit!" yelled the captain. "The jets! Birds can't fly with only one wing! Hit their jets!"

A metallic bang, and a rocket streaked up, thrown up by the obviously frustrated marine. It soared towards one of the fliers, only to be dodged as a flier lazily tilted to one side, allowing the missile to continue its course into the empty air. I heard the marine cursing, and another bang as yet another rocket screamed up towards the Ginasian fliers. Again it missed, this time the pilots performing mocking barrel-rolls in jest of us. Two swooped down to destroy us, their murderous intent clear on their already blazing cannons. At least they weren't hitting Sammo or the survivors. Cold consolation to us.

"The enemy seeks to deny us this battle," announced the marine impassively, completely unmoved by our impending doom. "This, we cannot permit."

I heard a cold ratcheting sound, and a click as the space marine readied his weapon. _BOO-BOO-BOO-BOO-BOOM!_ The deafening report of the bolter fired on full automatic rang in our ears, drowning out all sound. I felt sorry for the crew at the back, who were practically next to the marine. Jane and I started in shock as the flaming wreckage of a flier smashed into the ground next us, pieces flying off. We automatically ducked, even though we were safe behind the shatter-proof glass of the cabin.

"Flimsy junk! Take heart, my friends! Aim for the jets and cockpits, and the day will be ours!" instructed Alaris, satisfaction evident in his voice. I wound down the window and leaned out, autogun sticking out. The remaining fliers were attacking, eager to avenge their comrades' death. Fat chance, I thought grimly, as I flicked off the safety.

"Here they come, the swine! Aim true!" hollered the marine. I heard a cheer as the stubbers opened up, and another enemy flier tumbled away, jets aflame. It ended its flight on the side of a hill. The surviving fliers returned fire, raking the flatbed with cannon fire. I heard pinging thuds as the bullets reverberated off the hard metal and space marine. Then a cry of pain.

"Welk! Y'all right?" Arlen's terrified voice rang out from the flatbed. Oh Jovi, not another person dead. At least Corvin would be alright, since we had shifted him off to Sammo's truck.

"Fine, fine. Got nicked by a bullet," growled Welk's pained voice. We let out a sigh of relief in the cabin. Jane's wildly erratic driving had shook the fliers' fire. I patted her on the shoulder, which she replied with a cocky smile. Again, the harsh sounds of the fliers' flight filled the air, answered by the defiant boom of the bolter, and another salvo of stubber fire. This time I took aim as a flier tried to made a dare-devil pass beside the truck. One, two - _three!_ My autogun bucked and bruised my shoulder, spitting out a hail of lead. The black-tinted cockpit windscreen rapidly filled my vision, and suddenly it was pockmarked with bullet holes, courtesy of yours truly. The flier yawed and twisted dangerously as I realised I had shot the pilot.

"Jane, turn right! RIGHT!" I screamed into her ear, as the rampaging flier howled towards us, the pilot still trying to kill us even in death. I was thrown painfully from my seat into the windscreen as the truck lurched, Jane taking it on an impossibly tight turn. _Jovi damn_. I saw stars, the world spinning woozily. I should have really strapped myself in. I heard another _crump_ as another flier met its doom.

"Take that, you bastards!" screeched Jane, as the last flier turned tailed and sped away. Whoops of delight sounded from the back, the crew ecstatic over having defeated the Ginasian fliers. Sammo's affirmation that all the survivors had been picked up came over the radio, which was barely heeded as I joyfully hugged Jane.

"You got that flier, Lister! I saw it!" she grinned, eyes shining. I wondered if I had impressed her.

"You dodged that cannon-fire. It wasn't all me," I protested. Hopefully she wouldn't turn this into yet another excuse for me to be the leader. It was tiring, with so many people looking up to you.

"We're 'eading to the emergency shelter, fifty kilometres east. Great work with them fliers, Lister and Co. I've got about thirty survivors, and some are in pretty bad shape, so let's hurry," called Sammo over the radio. _Only _thirty? Tommis had a population of at least a few hundred. Those Jovi damned Ginasian _bastards_.

I swore they would pay, and pay dearly. Little did I know that that was soon to happen.

**Hope you all enjoyed that one! **


	9. Sayre: Of Bombs and Mascara

**Clickaholic Anonymous: Thanks man, I'll keep that in mind next time I write action scenes. This story is written solely from first person, ie. From Lister's point of view. Um, I'm hesitant to use the current IG planes (Valkyrie or Vultures) since they're really armoured and all, and shooting them with bolters wouldn't work. I'm not even sure if they were around in the Great Crusade. I don't want to get crucified by the fluff mob. You've seen what happened to Mr. MULTILAZORS and how much the community loves him. I read your critique and really appreciated it. I've tried to change some things as you indicated, but a story needs some level of sophisticated description, or else I might as well write a picture book. Lister is fairly well educated from the orphanage, and is fifteen at this time. I'll remember not to fall into purple prose next time. Thanks for reminding me. Oh BTW, you're demanding, but that's a great thing. Inflated Head Syndrome is something no one should have.**

Thirty-two survivors out of the several hundred. That was all that remained to remember Tommis. Most of them would never live full lives again, bits blown off them by the flier's merciless cannon-fire. Most lay groaning or deathly still on the floor of the caves we were now sheltering. None of the kids had made it out. Apparently a missile had collapsed the roof on our building. Those Ginasian bastards. I hoped the pilots would die slow deaths, with glowing pieces of metal shoved up their arses.

It had been four days since our rescue, and the two able-bodied adults had been discussing how to continue with the captain. He was unsteadily standing next to the men, a small shake occasionally going through his recently healed legs – yet still dwarfing them. The two men were now the de-facto leaders of the SFL, now that Uncle had a roof on top of him. One of them was called Torres, a beefy man with a tic in his left eye, a wild mane of blond hair and tight pants marking him as a clergyman of Bon Jovi. The other was slightly shorter and thinner, a nervous looking man who went by the name of Delan. He was currently shifting around and shrinking away from the space marine, obviously terrified by his presence. In contrast, Torres was nodding emphatically to the marine's instructions, his hatred towards the Tyrant overpowering his fear of the Astartes.

"...So I suggest that we infiltrate these orbital laser defence compounds and neutralise them," finished Alaris, after a lengthy oratory. The men nodded in agreement.

"We're wanted men, space marine. _We _cannot do it, our faces are on posters all over Ginas," Torres cut in mournfully. "The soldiers know our faces on sight."

Torres had originally been a fiery demagogue preaching Jovi's philosophy of freedom and independence. Obviously, the Tyrant didn't like that, so he had him arrested and tried for treason. On the way to his execution, the SFL had swooped in on a daring rescue, and he had helped us ever since. Delan had also been a criminal in the Tyrant's eyes, being a master of a forgotten archaic magic called chemistry – and hence bomb-making. A spate of explosions and arson had prompted the Ginasians to persecute Delan, who had fled to the SFL.

Alaris nodded laconically. He turned to us, and asked, "You people willing to help me? It's just planting some bombs and getting out. Nothing too serious."

Jane and I looked at each other. Not dangerous? Not serious? Isn't that what people say when they want you to run screaming at a tank armed with a sharp stick? No way, buddy. We shook our heads in unison, sick of fighting.

The marine sighed, unsure on how to motivate us. He beckoned to us, motioning out towards the sky outside. He pointed out towards the stars, in particular a rather bright one which seemed rather close.

"The battle barge _Drops of Jupiter_. A fine vessel, made in the shipyards of Jupiter. My ship," he commented. "Has a payload of a hundred drop pods. Now watch a standard Astartes drop pod launch pattern."

He pressed on the side of his ear, and spoke. "Helmsman, do you copy? Do you copy?"

A pause. Then a voice crackled on, awash with static. Atmospheric conditions were great that night. "My...ord. What is yo...ommand?"

"Prepare the drop pods for orbital insertion, Helmsman. Don't worry if they're unmanned, just launch them in Alpha-Two-Four formation."

A crackle of static as the man in the sky processed the information. "My lord, tha...is...manned launch patte... Isn't th...waste?"

"Helmsman, remember who is your captain. I will not ask again," he snapped back, annoyance clear on his craggy features. His expression softened, and he explained, "We're getting a shipment of new drop pods from Mars next month. Better ones, I'm told."

"Yes sir. Affir...tive. Launching...ow."

The captain turned to us, satisfied. "This is a standard Astartes drop pattern for a quarter of a battle company. Five hundred men in theory, supported by ten or so dreadnoughts. Highest concentration is in the centre of the drop zone, surrounded by a lighter scattering of drop pods around the periphery. The centre, is of course Ginas," he informed us, voice grim. "However, if the stories are true, the city of Ginas has a functioning STC Kraken pattern atmospheric las defence system. That is why none of my men dropped into Ginas."

I was about to ask what was an STC when the sky blew up. We gasped as the shining star blossomed red, as drop pods erupted from the orbiting ship. They streaked down, their distinctive screaming audible even from sixty kilometres away. How could anyone fight that? It was like Armageddon was coming down on Ginas. The marine watched in silence, pale blue eyes tracking the pods' progress.

All of a sudden, the sky erupted in flame, as white pillars of light crackled from Ginas, flaying the night sky. More and more beams appeared, their light blinding. Alaris watched on, impassive, as one by one the pods were cut apart by concentrated pillars of light. A few of the pods managed to land in the outskirts, their tiny shapes clear from the glowing-hot metal of their outsides. The laser beams mercilessly stabbed across at them, obliterating them with mechanical precision. Slowly, the pristine brightness of the lasers faded, darkness once more filling the night.

A shocked silence. Jovi damn, that was a lot of lasers. The space marines were in trouble, I thought.

The captain broke the silence. "That is why we need to destroy those defence systems. A land assault would also be completely destroyed, as the fate of the drop-pods that landed indicated. We – I cannot do it myself. I humbly request your assistance."

It obviously pained him to ask this of us. I guess if you were a god you had to have a pretty big ego. It must have taken a lot to ask some hapless kids for help.

He continued, "Without the Imperium to help, the Tyrant will continue to stain this planet."

Delan spoke up, voice stuttering a little. "I heard th – that the Imperium could use orbital b – bombardment."

Alaris nodded. "That would be the case, but the Mechanicus is loath to destroy the city. It was once a centre of technological advancement."

So, the marines couldn't get to Ginas. That meant I couldn't get at Grevan, that dog. I turned to Jane, telling her, "Jane, you don't have to go, but I wanna get at Grevan and the Tyrant. Enough people have died already"

I got up to join Alaris, but Jane tugged at my sleeve. I turned to face her. "I'm going with you, Lister. I want to get at Grevan as bad as you do," she demanded, eyes blazing. She got up to join me, not waiting for an answer.

The captain nodded, remarking, "Vengeance is a gift."

…...

The next few hours were a blur, as Delan showed us how to arm and detonate his bombs. No longer in the marine's presence, he was a whirl of manic energy, cradling his bombs like one would cradle a baby.

"Red, blue, green. Cross like that to arm. The timer will start after that. You have twenty minutes after that to get out," he instructed, deftly arming and re-arming his bombs. They looking decidedly dangerous, with a matte black exterior. A timer was taped onto the front, linked to a trigger that would cause the bomb to level the building it was in.

Next was Torres. He gave us Jovi's customary blessing, and proceeded to instruct us on how to infiltrate the laser defence bunkers.

"According to our intelligence, the Ginasian troops are fairly disorganised. The influx of troops from the outlying military bases has resulted in great confusion. You people should be able to sneak into the city like you did at the tank facility. However, nothing is known of the security of the laser defence silos or their coordinator silos. We assume they are fairly well guarded, and have contingents of Jaegers," he growled.

Jaegers! They were a legend among the people of Ginas. Mothers would scold their misbehaving children, saying that 'A Jaeger will get you if you don't stop!'. They were the Tyrant's elite soldiery, standing eight feet tall, armed with silver clawed hands that crackled with a nimbus of energy that could cut through virtually anything. It was said that Jaegers were made from Ancient machinery that invaded the brain and spinal cord of a corpse, twisting and changing it to turn the cadaver into a bloodthirsty war machine. All that remained after the transmogrification was a primal hunting instinct and a desire to kill. It was said that once a Jaeger caught someone's scent they never forgot it, forever stalking and hunting their prey. I wondered how the space marines would fare against such foes. Rumble in the jungle!

Torres nodded and strode off as the marine approached, the ground shaking ever so slightly. He had a load of weapons clipped to his belt, two bolters clipped to either side and other gear as well. A sword hung at his side, an odd contraption that had chainsaw-like teeth jutting out from one side. The stump of his right arm had been cleaned and sealed, a cap of metal over the wound. A piece of truck armour plate had been welded onto it as a makeshift shield, and a bandolier of bolter ammunition was strapped across his chest. The guy looked like a tank. With an attitude.

Noticing our stares, he remarked, "Never go into battle without a helmet, a teacher of mine once said. Failing that, take some protection!"

He jumped up and down, testing out his newly healed legs. The clipped-on weaponry made no sound at all. Freaky. I didn't know a marine could be quiet.

Sammo crashed in, equipment strapped over his trademark jacket. Underneath, he wore a Ginasian PDS uniform, the current fashion being hurriedly sown-up bullet holes and half-cleaned bloodstains. Jane and I also sported such uniforms.

"We ready to roll?" he asked, checking that the arrangement of his ethano bottle caps hadn't been disturbed. That jacket was worth more to him than his life.

The captain looked us over and shook his head amusedly. "You're the galaxy's pinkest orks," he commented, smiling at our ramshackle kits and taped – together equipment. Hey! I knew what those guys were!

"Aren't orks the little green men of the planet Ullanor?" I ask. Legend said that they were a peaceful alien race which delivered presents at the end of every year.

The captain made a disapproving face. "Green, yes..." he replied. "But now is not the time to dwell on greenskins. Let's go."

We gave our equipment one last check, and we were off to Ginas.

…...

Jane had slipped into a rumbling convoy ten kilometres from the outskirts of Ginas. Confusion was apparent in the Ginasian soldiers as they all tried to get into the safety of the city. All over Sayre, military bases were being abandoned as the entire military might of the Tyrant came to defend the city against the imminent marine invasion. Once again, our truck was coloured gun-metal grey and the stubbers taken off, this time permanently. There was no need, seeing as we had to leave most of the crew behind. Only the older kids could blend in at the laser silos, which left me, Jane and Sammo. The space marine we had stashed in a compartment in the floor, which he had grudgingly obliged.

"I am not a squat," he had grumbled, irritation clear on his face. No one got his joke. Luckily he had seen the logic of our thinking, queezing into the space. I don't think we'd get a great reception if we rolled in with a marine on our truck. They were supposed to be invading the place.

We were waved through the city gates by a group of harried soldiers, too busy to bother checking for identification. Lucky thing too, since the only photo we had was one of Sammo busy getting drunk; half-naked. He was twelve then, so that might have struck any interested guards as a tad shifty.

"Which way to the nearest coordinator silo?" called Jane from the driver's cabin. Sammo and I were sitting in the flatbed, trying to look military. I looked at the crude map that Delan had drawn, on which he had had drawn beautifully-coloured lurid explosions that denoted the silos. I pulled out my compass and twiddled with it.

"Five blocks straight ahead, turn left!" I yelled back. A column of soldiers marched past, their sergeant bellowing out orders as they marched their evolutions on the riotous road. We hurriedly ducked down, hoping that no one had noticed us. What a bunch of idiots. No one did.

Jane pulled up at the gates, barred by a lowered traffic bar. A slightly more professional soldier hurried out.

"Purpose of entry?" he demanded. "Papers?"

Oh no. Not good. I felt the marine slowly shift through the floor of the flatbed, readying for action. I leaned over the side, ready to pull out my revolver. Luckily, Jane had other ideas. She leaned out of the driver's window, eyelashes fluttering. I saw in the mirror that she had put on the mascara. The effect was devastating. The guard's jaw had hit the pavement below. I could just imagine him drooling.

"Oh sorry, sir! I'm so sorry! We were attacked, sir, by those horrible rebels!" she simpered, using a high, girly voice that I had never heard her use. It sounded like something off the holo-vids. She started to sob dramatically, covering her eyes so the guard couldn't see them. Her eyes flicked towards me, radiating silent amusement. Gasping theatrically, she continue to cry, "I lost the papers! They fell out, sir! I'm – I'm so sorry! I'm taking some laser charge boxes in! Sir, please, don't get me in trouble!"

The guard's heart had obviously melted, because he was making soothing noises and patting her on the arm. What a great guard. I could tell he wanted to get into her pants.

"Alright, alright. Look, I'll let you in this time," he said, opening the gate. He walked over to chat. "So...what's your name?"

Jane shone a fake-looking smile down at him, while scratching her armpit. "Hi! I'm Gertrude!"

The guy's face twisted slightly at the ugly sounding false name and her uglier hygiene issues, obviously quickly losing interest. He walked away, shaking his head in disappointment. Jane twisted back at me and grinned. Luckily she didn't really scratch her armpit like that.

We drove into a loading bay, which seemed oddly quiet. Jane parked the truck in the darkest corner, and killed the engine. Quietly opened the door and hopped into the flatbed.

"Let's go. Lister, you take the bomb," she whispered. "Sammo, take that damn jacket off."

A knock from the floor startled all of us. The floor pushed upwards, and Alaris emerged. "Do you need me?" he queried.

We shook our heads. "They don't know that we're gonna bomb this place," I replied. "We'll leave you the radio, we'll for if we need bailing."

He nodded, accepting the bulky radio. "With speed, friends!" With that, he popped back underneath the floor. Sammo hefted the other radio, stashing it in his backpack.

"OK, Jane, you've got the shirt with sergeant stripes, so you'll be 'leading' us," Sammo said. "Me and Lister here will carry the laser charge boxes. Hey Lister, put the bomb in there." He pointed at the heavy black case, which was filled with the heavy charge boxes the defence silos used to power their lasers. We heaved in unison, and carried the box towards the entrance.

"Charge box delivery?" came the tired voice of the night guard. "Storage is three corridors down, next to the cogitator system room. Don't go into the office, or else the colonel will have your head."

We nodded in thanks, Jane barking out orders as we marched to the indicated room. The corridors were practically deserted, with only the night shift patrolling the facility in their coffee rooms. We stumped into the store room, and gaped. This wasn't a room. It was a warehouse. Thousands upon thousands of charge boxes hummed and moaned, each linked to the central mainframe that supplied power to the defence silos across Ginas. A myriad of small green lights was the only indication of the sheer power trapped within these nondescript boxes. Apparently laser charge cells exploded when their containment failed. Our bomb was going to turn this place into a crater, and everything five blocks away as well.

"Can we get away in time?" I turned to Jane.

"Depends on the traffic," muttered Jane, already planning our escape. We walked into the centre of the maze of boxes, so our bomb wouldn't be discovered.

"We run, straight after this. Just run!" I prepared to cross the wires in Delan's prescribed combination. "Ready? Annnd...run!"

We pelted as out of the storage room, the timer already counting down. "Sorry! Got another delivery at the other silo!" I yell at the soon-to-be dead night guard, who waved us through laconically.

We piled into the truck. Alaris emerged from under the floor, saying, "Everything go to plan?" We nodded in answer. "Where did you place the bomb?"

"In the charge storage room," we replied, hastily getting ready to go.

The space marine blanched a little, and said, "Let's get out. This place is about to get a double serving of Exterminatus."

We agreed, wheels squealing in our haste to leave the facility.

Five minutes later, we were stuck in a traffic jam, three blocks away from the soon-to-be crater. I could hear Jane drumming at the wheel in the front. Sammo and I felt the tension too, fingering our weapons and tapping our feet. The marine? He was deathly still under the floor, patiently waiting. It was damn unbearable. I prayed to Jovi for our salvation, hoping the god wasn't busy somewhere else.

I don't know whether it was divine providence, or my over-active imagination that did it. I stood up suddenly, yelling, "Space marines! They're attacking! Down the road!" Instantly there was panic, the congested road milling and rippling as terror spread through the ranks. The road cleared slightly, as the confused Ginasian soldiers scrambled for cover or escape. I heard a fist punch on the metal of the cabin; Jane's hearty thanks coming through. Sammo grinned at me as we started to move again, weaving through other trucks and tanks, narrowly missing several soldiers who had decided to run across the road in fear. From the swerving and sudden accelerating I could swear Jane was playing chicken with them.

The truck sped up as we cleared the worst of the congestion. Sammo breathed a huge sigh of relief as drew away from the predicted blast zone. Jane called from the cabin.

"So...um...where's the next silo we need to blow?" she asked. In our panic we had forgotten to head to the next target. Damn. I pulled out our crudely drawn map, spinning it around until the top aligned with north.

"Ah, I think its about twenty blocks down, straight down the road, then turn left," I mused, not too sure about its location. The space marine was muttering underneath, seemingly in communication with his ship above. The floor plate shifted and he poked his head out, a satisfied smile on his face.

"My legion has arrived in system," he announced. About time. "They will arrive in around three hours."

We gave a small cheer, glad that the Tyrant was hours away from being deposed. But first we had to nuke two more coordinator silos. A few minutes later we pulled up at the second base. A guard hurried out to meet us. Jovi damn. The guard was female. No luck this time.

"No papers, no entry," she snapped tersely. "The marines are attacking. Never know, you might be those stupid Leaguers, eh?"

We did our best to not look guilty. Damn! Of all the stupid things to stop us, it was one measly guard. Jane called her thanks and reversed out from the barred gate. We stopped a block away, driving into a dank alley.

"What the hell!" cursed Jane. "How the heck are we going to into the compound now?" Bummer. Stuck up the creek with no canoe.

A series of deep thumps sounded as the captain climbed out of the truck. A look of irritation crossed his face.

"Stealth has failed, it can only take you so far," he commented, pulling out his chainsaw-sword. "Let us finish this – the space marine way."

Get blown up? Get your appendages lopped off? Sure! We were screwed.


	10. Sayre: The Space Marine Way

**Chickaholic Anonymous: I hope this chapter suits your taste. Thanks for the critiques.**

**littlewhitecat: Thanks man! Damn, it's a shame that Lister will have to leave Jane. WHERE'S MAH GIRL SPACE MARINES?**

**Delta-Pangaea: This is the SPACE MARINE WAY. Enjoy!**

We stood looking at the concrete wall that surrounded the coordinator compound. I turned to the marine, who was busy loosening his muscles and stretching.

"Are you really going through the wall?" I ask, doubtfully.

Nod.

"Do you know what's behind it?"

He shakes his head.

"Do you care?"

Shake.

I sighed and nodded, getting out of the crazy marine's way. "After you," I said.

With a primal roar, he bounded towards the concrete wall, right shoulder pad smashing the wall. Marine connected with wall, his armour pulverising the barrier. He disappeared through the wall, leaving an Alaris-shaped hole in his wake.

"Let's roll!" I yelled, jumping through. My friends followed in, Jane with her pistol – the one she never used, and Sammo with his two autoguns.

"Aaaaaaarrrghhhh!," howled the marine, waving his chainsaw thingy. He pelted towards the nearest group of shocked soldiers in a pillbox. He was a Jovi-damned _blur_.

"AAAAHHHH!"they screamed back, scrambling for their weapons. Too late, bastards! I couldn't see the marine swinging his sword, it was too fast. I could only tell by the gouts of blood as the men were reduced to bloody chunks of meat. Holy hell, that was fast.

_Whirrrrr!_ The marine turned to us grinning, the teeth of his sword still rolling. A fusillade of bullets pinged of his armour; fired from the perimeter, as well as from two other pillboxes at the entrance of the silo. Panicking, we ducked.

"Get to cover!" yelled Sammo over the din. We scrambled over to the recently vacated pillbox. Jovi, it stank. Someone must have wet themselves.

"Nonsense! I _am_ cover! Advance with me!" retorted the marine, raising his shield. The stinging bullets made silver lines on his unbreakable chest-plate. He waved his sword towards the two blazing gun emplacements at the entrance.

"There's some behind us, dammit!" I yelled. We didn't have marine armour. I levelled my autogun at the guards at the gate. _Crack, crack, crack!_ The weapon bruised and battered at my shoulder. I heard the marine sigh and re-clip his sword, pulling out a bolter.

"You kids can't aim, can you?" he muttered, pulling the trigger. _BOOM. BOOM._ Argh, dammit! I stoppered my ears frantically as the weapon fired. Too loud! Jane and Sammo were also on the ground, hands stuffed in their ears. A final _BOOM!_ sounded, the marine finished with his grisly task.

Ears ringing, we slowly got back up. The flying bullets barely seemed noticeable after the bolter. The marine tapped his feet impatiently.

"Now!" he yelled, breaking into a brisk trot, shield raised, sword out. Brisk for him meant sprinting like maniacs for us. The bullets hammered into the metal of the shield. I prayed; _Jovi, if you get out alive I'll get you a gold-plated guitar for the next congregation_. Lead slugs whipped through Jane's flying hair, making her duck and cringe. We were all bent double and running behind the marine, hoping no one noticed a few kids following the angry marine.

"Into them!" Alaris commanded, unfazed by the horrendous opposition. We piled into the pillbox, guns blazing. Jane hung back, pistol clutched in her white-knuckled hand. A solider rose up, face snarling and gun raised. _WHIIIIRRRR!_ The captain's chainsaw unexpectedly screamed through the man, spraying me with viscera. Jovi, it was disgusting! Sammo was busy firing madly, his two autoguns absolutely lethal at this range.

"Freedom!" he cried, voice barely audible over the marine's screeching weapon. "Jovi and freedom!" We gave a cheer. Ohh yeah! Suddenly, it was over. The two halves of the last man flopped down, the soldier neatly bisected by Alaris. I could hear retching as Jane threw up at the sight.

The marine pulled a lever on his sword, the teeth growling as they spat out blood and bone onto the ground with a wet _sprack!_ Bullets still flew as the soldiers in the remaining pillbox tried to avenge their comrades. He noticed us looking at his weapon.

"Mark II Unity pattern chainsword. Good, aye?" he commented. No, it was sick. I don't know what wort of maniacs would have produced such a weapon. The Imperium suddenly seem like such a good place after all.

Alaris motioned at the surviving pillbox. "I'll take out the other lot. You kids man the stubber and watch out for the enemy."

With that he sprang out of the box, shield protecting his face. In no time I heard a heard a chorus of screams and cries as the marine slaughtered the hapless soldiers. The chainsword screeched gleefully every time it bit into someone. I turned to Jane.

"You alright?" I asked. Her face was a pallid white.

"...Yeah, I think," came the whispered reply. Her eyes snapped open. "I'm sort of useless, aren't I?"

I shook my head. "Who the hell was driving us, Jane?"

"But I'm useless in a fight, Lister! I can't even shoot a gun!"

"Jane, there's other ways of being useful. Like dodging a dozen tanks? Who else could have pulled that off? Besides, I like your...ah...company."

She blushed at that, some colour returning to her cheeks. She spoke, "I'm glad you think that."

For a moment the action around us was blanked out by a feeling of utter contentment. But not for long.

The marine crashed into the pillbox, breaking our conversation. He had finished his bloody business in only a few minutes. "Where is the bomb? The remaining guards would have set up a defence inside by now. Only my armour is thick enough to fight in the corridors and survive."

We rummaged in our bags, Sammo finally pulling out one of Delan's explosives packages. "We're going too," he said. Jane and I nodded. We were too far gone to care.

"Where's your armour? Your skin? I'm sorry, skin really isn't conducive to close quarter combat," he retorted, obviously impatient. He held out his hand for the bomb. "You kids man the entrance and hold off any reinforcements. Give me ten minutes, and if I'm not out, run."

Sammo relented, handing over the explosive. "Jovi speed you," he said, sounding tired. The marine grinned and nodded, tucking the bomb into an in-built container in his metal suit. He turned and ran towards the building, not looking back.

He reached the heavy doors of the silo and smashed his chainsword against it. "Open up scum! Death has arrived!"

As if in answer, the doors crashed out, the metal going straight into the marine's face. He flew back cursing, slamming into the ground. Jovi, what the hell was behind that door?

A metallic clawed hand ripped apart the rest of the doors, energy crackling off it. Oh hell, Jaegers! We readied our weapons, unsure whether they would be of use. The rest of the automaton strode out from the dark, metal feet clanking. It was armoured top and bottom in dull grey metal, but unlike the space marine its angular proportions proclaimed its inhumanity. Worst of all, the preserved skin of the face of the man whose brain now resided in the machine was stapled on the front of the Jaeger's head. A pair of glowing green eyes leered out from the ghastly countenance.

The marine got up snarling, readying his chainsword for battle. Another five of the monstrosities clomped out, their claws sparkling in the night. Six! Jovi help us, we were screwed.

"Cull the bios," intoned one of them, words grating unnaturally through their voice casters. They started towards the marine.

"For the Emperor, you mechanical filth!" Alaris roared, swinging his chainsword. We just sat there gaping.

God met gods in a titanic crunch. Alaris hacked away at the metal carapace of the closest Jaeger, to no effect. A clawed hand rose up and ripped across his shoulder pad, splitting it open. The marine gave a cry of annoyance.

"Power claws, eh?" snapped Alaris, disengaging. He saluted the mechanoids with his chainsword, and lunged again at the closest one. Man, that guy was crazy.

"Oi, Lister, Jane, help him!" yelled Sammo, guns firing. We joined in, even Jane, pouring fire into the Jaegers surrounding the marine. He danced and spun, ground shaking as he dodged the rending claws of the machines. His enraged yells sounded as the claws found their mark. I pulled the trigger and kept it down, my bullets sparking off the armoured hulls. One turned and jerkily began stalking at us.

Oh. Damn. "Get that blighter!" I yelled, aiming for the eyes. The claws glittered. My death. Our death. Jane and Sammo also starting firing in desperation. It stalked closer and closer, silently. _Like death,_ I thought.

I jumped up, bullets gone. _Jovi help me, _I prayed. I pulled my pistol and scrambled back. _Slash!_ The claws whipped past my ear. Jane screamed as the Jaeger swung again, this time nearly decapitating me. The bastard was playing with me! A hot surge of anger went through me.

"For Jovi!" I shouted, diving in. My head collided with the Jaeger's chest, stars erupting in my eyes. My bullets sprayed pitifully across the surprised Jaeger's chest.

"Lister! Get the wires! Behind the claws!" cried the marine. What wires? Where? The claws came in, ready to embrace in me in a slashing death. I ducked. Then saw the thick wires that were connected to the base of the claws. I sprayed them with my pistol, the clip going dry.

"Irrational bio," growled the machine. The claws had stopped sparking, their energy gone. Cold comfort. The thing could still gut me like a fish. I rolled back hurriedly.

I saw the marine whirl around, slashing the claw cables with blurring speed. Already most of the Jaegers' claws were inactive, sparking off the marine's slashed-up armour.

Argh! A white hot line of pain coursed down my leg. The bloody Jaeger was that quick? I snarled in pain as I scrabbled back, the agony too much to walk with. _Get up, get up!_

"Hold on Lister!" Sammo's two guns spoke, their bullets smashing into the Jaeger's face. It staggered back as it's eyes blew up. Jane leapt over me swearing. Her pistol rang twice.

The Jaeger gave a low moan; a keening screech as it toppled over. The light slowly faded out of its ruined eyes.

"And stay dead!" Sammo smashed at the head with the butt of his autogun. We spat at the metal corpse.

A cry interrupted our celebrations. Two Jaegers lay crumpled in ruined wrecks, their heads smashed in by Alaris' sword. But one had its filthy claws in his chest! The glowing claw was buried deep in him, the Jaeger twisting it cruelly, slowly. Alaris struggled in its embrace, stabbing at the head with a knife. The captain coughed up blood, spraying it into the Jaeger's face.

"You lose, motherf-," he hissed. The knife found its mark, punching into the Jaeger's face. The marine toppled back on the ground, the machine's claws sliding out from him. The remaining Jaeger started forward to finish the wounded marine off.

The stench of ozone filled my nostrils, the air shimmering and popping. We hustled back, Jane and Sammo dragging me across the rocky ground. _My arse!_ What new devilry was this?

A crowd of huge, black-armoured figures materialised a few metres up. _Crunch!_ One landed on the Jaeger, pulping it and spraying sickly ichor and machine oil everywhere. Each sported a wolf insignia, identical to the one Alaris wore. Jovi damn, they were bigger than_ Alaris!_ One strode over to me, crushing the ground wherever he walked. Glowing red eyelenses burned balefully from a metre above my head, and a double barrelled gun was pointed at my face. I scrabbled to my feet in terror, pain forgotten.

"Friend or foe?" boomed a synthetic voice. Sweat was running down my eyes.

"F-f-friend," I stammer at the the twin black barrels. They lifted and were gone.

"You wear the colours of the enemy," the big marine remarked, seeing my disguise. "I might as well kill you just to be sure." The gun was pointed at me again. His finger tightened around the trigger.

A groan came from Alaris' slumped form. He was alive! "They're allies. Hold your fire, brother," he called, voice weak. It grew in strength. "I, Captain Alaris, say HOLD YOUR FIRE!"

The towering marine gave a grunt, and lifted up his weapon. I breathed a sigh of relief. Which was promptly replaced by a hollow _bonk_, as the big marine's excessively wide shoulder plate connected with my head. I saw stars as I keeled over in the dirt.

"Pathetic," I heard the marine mutter. What a scumbag. I hope Jovi gave him piles. Big, throbbing ones to boot. He strode off to join the others. Alaris was being tended to by another black-armoured marine. They were pouring something that looked like glue into his chest. Urgh.

"Lister, you alright?" Jane asked. Sammo staggered to me awkwardly, face white. He had wet his pants. Well, at least he hadn't ruined his jacket. I try shift my leg, but a jolt of agony bursts from the wound. It was slashed to the bone. Sammo and Jane started to douse it in antiseptic and wrapped it up. I gritted my teeth, pain coursing through my body.

…...

Finally it was over. I lifted myself up and draped an arm across Sammo for support. My leg hurt like crazy. We staggered towards Alaris, who was sitting up gingerly.

"You got stabbed in the heart! I saw it!" said Jane. "How the hell you survive?"

The marine smiled painfully. "Don't worry. I have another one." Wow. How much extra bits could you stuff in a marine?

The captain turned towards one of the black armoured marines. "Brother Terminator, clear the building."

Another marine strode into view, this time the same height as Alaris. He wore mostly rust red, with cog symbols and skulls adorning his armour. But he still wore the same badge as the captain: a snarling wolf's head with a crescent in its mouth. "Not too much damage, brother. Just neutralise the silo's activity," he commanded. His voice sounded like a Jaeger's.

The marine nodded in affirmation, clashing his armoured hand against his chest plate. He strode off into the building. Minutes later, I heard the now-familiar percussive sound of a bolter, followed with shouts and screams of the guards.

Alaris turned to the red marine. "So Techmarine, where is the rest of our legion?"

The red marine motioned at the silo. "We saw the recording of what happened to your drop pods. We were going to teleport on the silos, but I did a scan and found that one was already destroyed. We also received your teleport beacon's signal, which is the only way to safely teleport into this awful atmosphere. The signal refraction is incredible. I have never had to land from four metres up in any other teleport assault."

The captain grinned. "Yes, one would have thought you had become assault marines."

The 'techmarine' made a disapproving noise. "Hmph. So I loaded me and my retinue into the closest teleport-capable battle barge. Emperor only knows what you would have done with this relic." He pointed at the silo. "You untrained are always so wantonly destructive."

The captain snorted. He twisted around wincing, and said to me. "Lister, give Techmarine Gyver here your map. He'll want to capture the other silo."

I nodded and Jane pulled out Delan's map. The techmarine accepted it with thanks. "The more examples of this technology the better. It is easier to reverse engineer a prototype that way."

Alaris' radio suddenly blared to life, a powerful voice booming out. "Capta-...you copy?"

He pressed a stud in his ear. "Yes, my lord."

"Ex-..ent. You are to-..ceed to the Tyrant's . We need a tele-... beacon to attack. With haste, -..tain."

"Of course," he tapped the stud again. Turning to to the red marine, he instructed, "Take your terminators to that silo and deactivate it. The legion will drop straight after that. I will infiltrate the palace complex and milord Horus will teleport in to finish this."

"Should you not take reinforcements?" Gyver asked. "I can spare one or two of my retinue." The ponderous black marines nodded in assent. Alaris shook his head.

"I will take my friends here," he replied, gesturing to us. "I can sneak in more easily with them."

"I see the logic in that, brother captain," the techmarine answered after a pause. "You, brother Requin. Guard this silo. The rest of my retinue, we go to the enemy! Move out!"

The black marines gave a stentorian roar, and marched off into the city. I felt sorry for any Ginasian soldiers in the way.

Alaris got up stiffly, holding his chest. "Come, we have a Tyrant to kill."

**I hope I got the description of the pre-Heresy Luna Wolves terminators right. If I have committed techno-heresy in this regard, feel free to tell me. Sorry about no Abaddon, he would have made the assault FAILLLL. Laters!**


	11. Sayre: No Regrets

**Colonelwalrus: It was welded to the stump cap of his right arm. Sorry about that, only described it briefly. I'm glad that the static thingy is decipherable. Thanks for your review.**

**Alien26: Glad to see you're still reading man, thanks. Yeah, you see marines in books and animations being killed by a single shot or slice, and you wonder what happened to their second heart.**

**Wjinxy: Dude I really appreciate your comments. I'll do my level best at this story. Count on it! **

We crept warily out of the deserted compound, eyes peeled for the enemy. The black marines had left a trail of devastation in their wake, littering the road with eviscerated corpses and the blazing carcasses of vehicles. We bent down to fossick the remnants of the soldiers for ammunition cartridges, as we had run low during the fight. Urgh! A body squelched as the captain walked relentlessly back to our ride. Sometimes I swear he wasn't human.

Finishing our grim task, we climbed into the truck, which was the only thing not bullet-ridden in the immediate vicinity. The marine stowed himself back into the floor compartment, grunting in pain from his chest wound. The truck lurched forwards and we slowly grumbled our way to the palace.

"Hey cap', you OK?" I asked. The wound was a deep one, five red puncture marks sealed in some sort of resin.

"Fine, Lister, fine. Just out of breath. Damn machine actually managed to rip apart my heart _and_ a lung. I'll live, but I won't be able to pull off many more stunts."

Holy hell. This guy actually wasn't human. "How many lungs and hearts you got stashed in there?"

"Not supposed to tell you normals, but very well. I have – had a third lung, and a secondary heart."

"Jovi damn! How come you're tired then, Mr Marine?"

"Apart from being in slight pain, the human body was not designed to grow this tall," he said, pointing to himself. "My remaining heart is boosted, like the rest of me, but it can only supply sufficient oxygen to my entire body in periods of light exertion. I will be hard-pressed in any fights that we get into." Slight pain? _Slight_ pain? If five gaping holes in your heart is small pain, what is a big pain?

Damn. There goes our star player. We were so screwed. Our marine was a geriatric. If a Jaeger ran into us we'd be meat pies in five seconds flat. The captain seemed to notice the doubt in my eyes.

"Lister, we are not storming the palace. Only infiltrating it. Milord Horus and his terminators will teleport in and destroy the Tyrant."

"Who's this Horus fella you keep talking about?"

"_Lord_ Horus. Some of my brothers would have killed you for saying that. He is the greatest man to stride the stars after the Emperor. The first son of the Emperor, so I heard. At least, the Emperor found him first, around thirty years ago. He is a primarch – a superhuman in truth. A giant among men, and a great leader."

"Wait, _thirty _years? Exactly how old are you?" I shot back.

"A hundred," came the nonchalant reply. What? A _hundred?_ He was pulling my leg, the sly bastard.

"Shouldn't you be dead, cap'?"

"I'm a space marine, we live to a very old age if we survive."

A bang sounded from the cabin. "Ho, we're here!" yelled Jane. I looked up and gulped. The marine slid back into the floor while I wasn't looking.

The Palace of Ginas. The capital of Sayre. Five hundred metres tall, half a kilometre in diameter. It bristled with laser defence batteries, independent of the citywide system. A vast iron spike. The Tyrant's den. And also the biggest expression of the need to compensate from any man alive. Of matters southwards, if you get my drift.

Sammo shuffled next to me, muttering, "Holy hell, we're attacking that?" I agreed. My balls had started to retract into my stomach again. Only Jane seemed unfazed. Jovi, what a girl.

"Halt! Cargo inspection!" roared an armoured guard, packing a laser rifle. Jovi curse them! This was bad.

A pair of soldiers jumped into our flatbed, poking at every nook and cranny, as if suspecting that we had somehow stashed a space marine on the truck. Well, we had, hadn't we? They rummaged about for several minutes, and I watched with sweat running down my body. _Jovi help me,_ I prayed silently. I hoped they didn't notice how scared I looked. Sammo was sitting calmly at the back, tension only betrayed by his white-knuckled hands.

Finally the inspection finished, the guards hopping off the truck. "Pass! Glory to the Tyrant!" intoned the first guard. We waved salutes back at him, that officious sod.

"I thought we were screwed!" said Sammo. He breathed a huge sigh of relief.

I nodded, still too wound up for words. We passed large columns of soldiers, who had retreated into the safety of the palace now that the city's laser defences were crumbling. The area was a hive of activity, as the Ginasian soldiers hastily erected barricades and entrenchments in preparation for the marine attack.

"Look! The sky!" shouted one man, pointing at the sky and frightened cries. "The silos! They're dead! The marines are coming! The Imperium is attacking! To arms! To arms!"

The columns dissolved in panicked shouts and terrified men. I looked at the sky, which seemed starrier than usual. _No, they were ships!_ With a quiet flash, they blossomed with fire, firing their drop pods into Sayre's atmosphere in swarms. A rasp of metal made me turn around.

"My brothers come," murmured the captain, eyes tracking the fiery pods. A swarm of missiles rose to meet the red streaks. As one, they slammed into the pods, knocking them about in a frenzy. This time however, most of the pods made it. Alaris' vox came to life.

"Strike Force Luna! The enemy is here, and this world is too small for the two of us! Astartes, kill for the living! Kill for the dead!"

The captain gave a snort. "Ezekiel. What a pontificating turd."

We nodded, not knowing what to say. The roar of battle was slowly filling the air, the Imperium taking the fight to the enemy. Men pelted their way around our truck, weapons clutched in their hands. Fear, confusion, determination. Emotions filled the air like a miasma. I saw a man sobbing on the ground, curled up in a ball and refusing to move. I saw soldiers march in lockstep to their dooms outside the gates. I saw idiots firing their guns madly into the air, caught up in a frenzy of machismo. Jovi, what a nightmare.

The truck pulled up with a jerk in a dark corner. Jane leaped nimbly out of the cabin and into the flatbed. "This is as far as we can go, I think," she whispered. Her body trembled slightly, for fear or excitement, I don't know. Damn, I was getting the jitters too. I hoped that I wouldn't wet my pants like Sammo did. That would be too much. Overhead the massive defence lasers of the Tyrant's palace began pounding at the marines outside, lighting up the area.

The marine rose out of the floor and checked his weapons, intoning a religious liturgy as he did. These marines were nuts. Sammo's gun's went _clack-clack_, the sound of him loading almost too loud in the dark. Even Jane was checking her gun, her brown hair tumbling down across her face. Man, she _did_ look good. _Snap outta it, you idiot_, I muttered to myself. Now was not the time. I contented myself with loading up my autogun.

"Eh?" she said, looking up. Oh damn, was I really talking to myself? She shone me a wan smile.

"Nothing, nothing," I grunted. The captain was already moving, busy spitting on the rusted iron door. A hissing sound filled the air. He turned to us, beckoning to us to come nearer.

"Jane, Sammo, Lister. What we need to to get as high as possible up this tower. Our intelligence reports indicated the Tyrant resides in the upper levels of the complex. Now, slaying the Tyrant will bring much of the local resistance to its knees. That is what I intend to do, get up the tower and call in a teleport. Ah-however, due to this accursed atmosphere's refraction value we must find a room with a roof at least four metres high. I don't want to be the one who kills Milord Horus by teleporting him into a roof. Bloody Mechanicus. They still haven't developed safeguards for this sort of nonsense."

Made sense to me. But I did feel a little bit disappointed at not being able to kill the Tyrant myself. I'll just find Grevan afterwards and stick a poker up his arse. Alaris paused for a second, and pointed at our clothes.

"Take off your PDS uniforms. Too much of a risk of friendly fire," he commanded. I nodded, remembering that bloodthirsty terminator who wanted to kill me. Psychotic bastard. Sammo gave a small whoop and joy and shrugged on his beloved jacket. I stripped off my Ginasian uniform and hurriedly slipped on my normal clothes. In my anxiety I forgot about Jane being there. Oh well, she got to check out the merchandise.

Unfortunately, she didn't seem in the mood to return the favour. I guess you can't have everything in life.

"Aren't you boys going to turn around?" she snapped, arms crossed. We hurriedly looked the other way, with the exception of the marine.

"Is this the normal social convention? Or a quirk of this world?" he queried, sounding genuinely interested. I could almost hear Jane's teeth grinding.

"No, mister, it's Jovi's own rusty guitar! Of course it is! Manners, hello?" came the irate reply. She suddenly choked, realising who she was talking to. "Oh! Sorry, captain! No offence meant!"

He rumbled back, "None taken, miss." He turned around, muttering to us softly, "Are females usually like that? I've forgotten. It has been a very long time."

We shrugged. The orphanage had never taught me much about girls, nor had I had much of a chance to talk to one back there. Jane was probably the only girl I ever really had a proper conversation with. The rest had been etiquette lessons or sociology experiments.

"Alright, let's go!" came her voice. We turned back and she was in her normal clothes. The marine nodded, wrapping his remaining hand in spare rags.

"Shhhh..." he hissed. His hand lashed out, breaking the lock with a muffled clang. We hustled in the doorway, the captain taking the lead. We hurried up a metal stairway, its structure groaning from the marine's weight. The dank walls seemed to press in on us. Every footstep sounded like an alarm. I imagined the tromp of feet as the Tyrant's guards came to kill us.

The stairway ended several dozen stories up, terminating at a faded yellow door that said 'FIRE ESCAPE'. We waited for a moment, the marine pressing his ear against the door. He turned his head to us and smiled grimly.

"Three heartbeats. A few metres away from the door. From their beat rate and foot steps these men are not on a high alert. Do those 'Jaegers' of yours have hearts?"

Sammo shook his head. "All ya need is a brain and the spinal cord."

"Very well. I will charge the two furthest away. You three take out the closest, which should be to your left. If there are Jaegers, well, we shall improvise. And be _quiet_," Alaris said, hefting his chainsword. I gulped and took out my knife in a white-knuckled grip. I had never used it before.

"In three – two – one – GO!" he snarled, slamming into the door. It burst out of the wall, and with a muffled clang barrelled into someone. Scream and crunch, as the marine jumped on the man trapped underneath. Eyes blind from the sudden light, I charged out, stabbing at the closest blurred shape. Lunge. Scream. Slash. My knife connected with something with a muffled thump. Again! And again! The weight slid down, taking the knife with it.

Oh Jovi, I killed someone! My eyes recovered from the light, objects focusing. Just in time to see the marine sling his silent chainsword into the last guard, connecting with a wet smack. The man's back broke with a sickening snap. Alaris hadn't turned the sword on.

I sat down in shock, adrenalin still coursing through me. I know I had killed before. With guns, that was. But with the knife... I could feel the man dying as his life fled him. Jovi, it was horrible.

A clap on the back startled me from my guilt. Jovi, that hurt! The marine squatted down next to me, panting faintly. "A fine kill, Lister. Next time, stab upwards for a quicker kill. The ribs will close to deny entry from a downwards stab, but they heartily welcome an upwards stab."

I angrily pushed away my guilt. _Mourning is for later_, I reminded myself. Jane stared at me in shock, mouth agape, face white. Sammo was quickly raiding the guards for keys and identi-chips, stuffing his findings into his pocket.

"I believe the next stairway is this way," called the marine with typical Astartes aplomb. He looked barely ruffled by the killings. He wiped his chainsword on one the bodies, ignoring the visceral squelching noises they made. We hurried over to the stairwell. Never know when a patrol would come.

"My instruments state that we are one hundred and fifty metres above ground height," the captain announced as we laboriously climbed up the stairs. It felt like a thousand. Still the horror of the dead man haunted me, my mind replaying and replaying the image. I shook my head, trying to clear it. Jane touched my shoulder, drawing up next to me.

"Lister, it's OK. He was the Tyrant's soldier. A murderer. A rapist. Don't – _don't_ ever fuss about him," she warned, face still pale but determined. "Think of all the lives you just saved."

"But he – he just died on me," I replied lamely. "He just...left."

"Yeah? Remember Ryain? Payback, Lister. For us, for Ryain."

I nodded numbly, mulling over what she said. I had never seen her this angry. But she had a point, Jane did. We marched on up the stairs, half-expecting guards to pop through the doors and blow us up. The captain had his finger on his ear, muttering commands to the ships above.

"...need heavy support!" I heard him say. A wash of white noise replied him, followed by a static-ridden voice. I couldn't quite catch what was being said, apart from something along the lines of 'minimising damage'.

The marine turned to us growling. "Bloody Mechanicus and their Dark Age toys." He spat on the stairs. We backed up in horror, half expecting them to crumble underneath us.

"Eh?" Alaris asked. "Ah, that's not my acid spit." He jumped on the spittle, the stairs squeaking in protest. "Perfectly sound."

_If you say so, Mr Marine. _We gingerly skipped the step with the spit and continued our way up. Not long afterwards, another door blocked our path. Alaris pressed his ear against the door once more. We held our breath.

SMASH! A clawed hand shot out through the door, nearly decapitating the startled marine. He leaped back.

"JAEGER!" he roared. "To arms, my friends! We are discovered!"

We levelled our guns at the door, spraying it with bullets. A metallic growl issued from behind it. With a howl the captain's weapon swung, hacking the arm apart. He charged into the door, flying through it and into the machine. Another pair of green eyes stared at us, and two other hands crackled to life. Our bullets hammered into the tussling Jaeger and marine, spraying both indiscriminately. To no effect.

"Move!" yelled Sammo. I leapt to the right as the second Jaeger's claws sliced past. I heard a cracking sound as the marine split open his adversary's head. It went limp.

"Ha! Pathetic!" he taunted. "You fil-" His eyes flicked behind the remaining Jaeger. I turned to see. Oh Jovi, no! A horde of Jaegers stalked towards us. The marine punched the Jaeger, knocking it to the ground.

"Run! I mean – tactical retreat!" hollered Sammo. He was right. We pounded away from the advancing machines, even the marine, who seemed reluctant to leave. We hit a fork in the corridors.

"These Jaegers don't seem too bright. We shall split up," snapped the captain. "You, Sammo, with me. We will lose this scum yet."

Oh no. No, no, no. Me and Jane's chances of survival had dropped from nil to somewhere around negative infinity. The marine continued relentlessly.

"If you survive, the schematics show there is another stairwell at the other side of the building. Rendezvous with us up at the next landing."

_If you survive_. A kilometre of running through the Tyrant's home. Well, I did fight for the Sayrean Freedom League. Time to cause some damage. I turned to Jane.

"Let's rock'n'roll," I muttered grimly, turning to the left fork. "I'll see you there, cap'"

The marine solemnly banged his chestplate. Sammo called, "We'll see each other again, I know it! Sayre and Freedom!"

And they were off. We ran down the corridors, completely disorientated. The pounding march of metal feet dogged us menacingly. We were going to die, I knew it. The floor turned out to be a storage area, filled with high shelves and goods. We slipped through a maze of them, hoping to confuse our predators. _No use,_ my inner voice called mockingly. The Jaegers could just follow our scent.

Jane grabbed my hand suddenly, squeezing it tight. Her touch sent a fresh spark of vitality through my taxed legs, and together we sped through the dusty maze of shelves.

The clanging footsteps grew louder as the automatons drew closer. Suddenly, I realised that I still wanted to live. To enjoy life. To see the galaxy. To do things that I had never done. Starting with this one. If I was going to die, I'd live what life I had left to the full.

"Jane – I – never – thanked – you – for – what – happened – at – the – silo," I huffed as we ran. Despite our predicament she turned to me and grinned.

"You – never – did. Didn't – you?" she gasped. We sped through several twisting corridors.

My heart started to pound even more, not from the running but from what I wanted to do next. A crash as the first Jaeger rounded the corridor.

I felt like it, so I did it. Without thinking, I grabbed her close and kissed her, full on the lips. Hell, if you're going to die, live with no regrets. It felt bloody beautiful. I felt her kiss back for instant before I withdrew, and we were running again.

The stairway door! I wrenched it open and pushed Jane inside, quickly following her up the stairs. BOOM. The door blew open again, a Jaeger screaming its electronic battle cry as it swiped its claws at us. We yelled as it missed, and scrambled up the stairs. _Go! Go!_ More Jaegers poured in, claws sparking against the walls as they thumped up the stairs. Jane clutched my hand as we hauled each other up the stairs.

"One more! Just one more!" she cried, as we ran up the stairs, legs aching and burning.

The door above suddenly broke apart with a crash. Jovi, we were done. _Commend Jane's soul to heaven_, I prayed to Bon Jovi. We leapt, ready for the flood of Jaegers and bloodthirsty soldiers and to sell our lives dearly to boot. Jane's kiss burned bright on my mouth.

_Bonk_.

Our heads collided with something big, black and moving. I saw stars for a moment, then realised the red ones were the eye lenses of a space marine. The big variety. He nudged Jane with an uncaring foot.

"Good. The captain said you would arrive be here. Make way!" boomed a synthetic voice. The marine hefted some kind of long barrelled cannon with six barrels. They began to spin. Remembering my past experiences with marine guns, I scrambled over to Jane's prone form and pulled her back, trying to cover both our ears.

WHREEEEEEEEEEEEEE! The cannon erupted with a scream, spitting lead down the stairway. We yelled in pain as the noise filled our ears, hammering at our ear drums. Metallic whines and groans sounded as the Jaegers were reduced to scrap. Dammit, why didn't the marines have some respect for normal people? Satisfied with his work, the terminator slowly turning around to face us. A thunderous crash rang from the stairway, the flimsy structure obviously destroyed.

"Move. We go to the captain," barked the synthetic voice. Man, were all marines jerks? They all seemed to be. Apart from Alaris. I nodded and pulled Jane up, slinging her arm over my shoulder. She groaned groggily.

The marine clumped noisily forward, sweeping the surroundings with his gargantuan cannon. He had trouble negotiating corners, I noticed. Those shoulder pads were wide enough to hide a tank behind them. We entered a bloodstained hall, littered with bodies and debris and bullet holes. Jane shrugged herself off me, walking unsteadily by herself.

_Boom._ Our heads snapped around, looking for the enemy. _Boom_. A door burst open, flinging into the room the top half of a man. It would have been comical if he wasn't screaming. _Boom!_ Another terminator strode in, finishing off the man. He stepped on and over him without a second glance. _Squelch._ Urgh.

"Floor cleared, brother. Where is Lord Horus and the captain?" reported the new marine. His chipped and gouged armour spoke of many dead Jaegers.

"Right here, brother," boomed a new voice, deep and melodious, powerfully reverberant. I turned to look, and suddenly a metal hand pushed me face-first into the ground.

"Kneel, boy! Do not sully Lord Horus with your unworthy eyes!" snarled the terminator. Jane was also shoved down into the ground as well. That black armoured bastard's hands dug into my back painfully. I tasted dirt and spat quietly, not wanted to further offend this mysterious 'Horus'.

"What are these?" asked the voice dismissively. He sounded like he was talking about cattle, the arrogant prat. 'What' indeed! I hope he got piles as well. The captain quickly spoke up, sensing my irritation.

"Natives, my lord. Loyal to the Imperium. They have been of great help."

"Hmph. Carry on, captain. We have a job to finish."

With that the prat strode away, and the hand that was holding us loosened and let us up. We massaged our necks, glaring at the impassive terminator. The captain walked over to us, Sammo in tow.

"You made it! Man, we 'ad so many Jaegers chasing us. You guys 'ad it better, right?" he excitedly babbled.

I paused for a moment. "Yeah, it was alright," I grunted. Jane and I locked eyes, still remembering that kiss. She gave me a quick wink, making me flush and look away.

"I am glad that you fared well," announced the captain. He looked decidedly worse for wear, armour slashed and damaged. His face was a ghastly white and he breathed heavily. A white armoured marine strode over, firmly clamping his hand on Alaris' right pauldron.

"Brother, you must refrain from fighting. Your wounds threaten to overcome you," he commanded. The heavily modulated voice brooked no argument, but the captain had other ideas.

"I _will_ fight, apothecary! This is my operation!" he retorted, shaking off the other marine's hand off his shoulder.

"Brother captain, you are missing an arm."

"Tis' only a flesh wound!"

"What about those holes in your chest, captain?"

"A mere scratch! I am combat-ready, brother! Now let me fight!"

The other marine sighed, and pulled out a vial. "If I cannot dissuade from combat, at least take these stimulants. Report to me immediately after it is done." The small bottle was pushed into the captain's hands and the 'apothecary' walked off.

The captain took the concoction in one belt. Pressing his hand against his ear, he listened in to his comrades, nodding enthusiastically all the while.

"Lord Horus has found a way up that can support the terminators' weight. We head to the cargo lift," he told us, striding off into a corridor. "The Tyrant dies."

Hell yeah to that! We following the captain, reloading our weapons and checking our equipment. We met the rest of the marines at the end of the corridors, a black crowd surrounding a single massive armoured man. He too was armoured in black, yet towered over the terminators around him. A marine stepped in my way, and my view was blocked. The huge form turned towards the captain.

"Brother captain, are you really bringing those normals?" he boomed.

"Yes my lord, they owe the Tyrant a few bullets," Alaris neatly replied. Good on him!

The lift pinged, the giant muttering, "I hope they don't cut the cables."

…...

We piled in the lift, me, Jane and Sammo first, with a wall of ceramite and metal in front of us when the lift doors opened. I gulped as the marines pressed in on us. Even the captain was dwarfed by the terminators this close, and the giant man had to bend over slightly to fit in. Several pairs of red eyes burned down on us, but not a word was said. The captain smiled down encouragingly at us.

"Fear not, you are among friends," he whispered. As if. The other marines looked they wanted to kill everything in sight, starting with us as appetisers. The lift arrived with a cheery chime. How ironic. The marine tapped their guns impatiently, and I readied my autogun in anticipation.

"Open fire!" rang a soldier's voice from the room. "Glory to the Tyrant!"

"Glory to the Emperor!" roared a terminator. "Our father and lord!"

The marines in front were met with a thunderous fusillade of laser and auto fire, bouncing off their armour like flies. We ducked behind a particularly wide terminator for protection. Suddenly, beams of laser cannon fire lit the hall, smashing into the terminators. The marine we were using for cover staggered as two hit him full on. Crap! A mechanical growl issued from his helmet grille, and he fired into the smoke. A pool of molten metal pooled at his feet.

"With me, my brothers!" shouted the giant. His armoured form rushed into the Ginasians, scattering them like chaff. The marines gave a throaty cheer and surged into the gap. A hand pushed me forward.

"Let us advance!" cried the captain. He had switched his blade for a bolter, each shot a thunderclap. We ran forth into the enemy, spraying bullets wildly. Jane was muttering a prayer beside me. Jovi spare us!

I ducked as a shining blade whizzed past me, thrown by a wounded soldier. I yelled and cut him down with a burst. _Kill!_ my inner voice howled. I grinned like a madman, shooting several more. No guilt this time. These guys deserved to die.

Slam! Thrown to the ground. The world went black for a second. _Get up! GET UP! _A soldier had me by the throat, a hand ready to plunge a knife into me. I choked and gurgled. No help, no captain this time. _So this is how it ends_.

BLAM! The man was smashed back, a gaping hole in his head. A fine spray of blood landed on my face. Jane loomed over me, shaking my shoulders.

"Lister! Get up!" she screamed. I could barely hear her. My throat was the size of a straw.

"Br...brea...breathe..." I wheezed. I shakily picked up my autogun. Jovi, I need AIR! I massaged my throat until I regained my breath.

"Ya'll orright?" called Sammo, gleefully shooting the now-fleeing soldiers. The battle in the hall was all but won. The marines busied themselves finishing off any survivors.

"Yeah," I wheezed, gingerly standing up. My skull felt cracked, the forehead throbbing. Dammit, why did I always get beaten up? Jane looked it at carefully.

"Was that another one I owe you?" I asked her, half hopefully. I think I was warming to this kissing business.

"Sure was," she sniggered. "Later, buddy. Keep your pants on!"

I flushed at that, and began to retort, "Well I di-"

A stentorian roar filled the bloodstained hall. "There he is! He flees, the coward! HAVE IT AT HIM!"

The Tyrant! Time for revenge! We snatched up our things, ready to roll. We skidded around the corner, following the captain. We was busy muttering a prayer, or was it his squad mates names? I heard a 'Talaris' in there. I whispered my own prayer with Ryain and Corvin's names in it.

Jovi damn, that was one big crowd of Jaegers! We hurriedly halted, firing at the machines. I spotted a big blue sphere in the middle of the platoon, humming with energy. Some sort of Ancient shield, that murdering turd.

"Preparing to fire," announced the terminator with the huge cannon. Jane, Sammo and I hastily moved away from him. Those guns were as loud as hell. The cannon spoke, smashing apart the Jaegers in a flurry of mechanical parts and fluids. Within a minute the machines were all dead, the Tyrant the only one left in a field of debris. He stared at us contemptuously, lip curling.

"You can't kill me!" he sneered. He had a voice of a weasel, he did. I raised my gun hatefully and fired.

"Jovi! Jovi and freedom!" I yelled. The Tyrant simply stood there, the arcane shield taking the hits.

"Fire!" commanded the captain. We covered our ears as the marines opened fire, the percussion hammering at our skulls. When the flashes cleared the Tyrant stood there laughing.

"You stupid scum! Pigs! That Emperor of yours was the son of a whore! You hear me, fools?"

A deadly silence fell over the marines. _Bad move_, I thought. An ominous clink of armour sounded.

"No one insults my father," said Horus in a quiet voice. "No one _alive._"

His rage-filled voice filled the room. I could almost feel the earth shaking as the giant raised his armoured claw. For the first time the Tyrant looked fearful.

The claws slashed down.

_Crack!_ The shield was cloven in two, and the Tyrant gave an awful scream as the claws tore him in two. _He's dead! The Tyrant is dead!_

For a moment we stood in silence, absorbing the sight. Then we broke out in cheers, hugging each other. The marines watched on in confusion.

"He's gone, Lister! We're free!" yelled Jane ecstatically. Sammo joyfully roared out the SFL's anthem, tears streaming down his face.

It was over. The Tyrant was dead, and we could live our lives now.

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter! My longest yet, took the combined efforts of three days to finish it. Oh, forgive me for not going in much detail about Horus. He's GW's character, so naturally I shouldn't focus on him. The terminator armour is one of the older models with those huge-ass shoulder pads. Please review and all! **


	12. Sayre: A Bed of Roses

**Colonelwalrus: I wrote Shakespeare? Which bit was this? Thanks for the comments!**

**Alien26: Thanks dude. I'll look up Horus' description some time.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Bon Jovi's lyrics etc.**

We only had a few minutes to celebrate before the marines set us in search of a vid recorder. Apparently they wanted to broadcast the image of the Tyrant – or what was left of him – throughout the city's network. Grisly business. We rummaged through the Tyrant's quarters, which had been recently cleared by a taciturn terminator. He strode off into the other rooms without a backwards glance, an occasional _boom_ marking the death of another of the Tyrant's servants. Jane and I were searching the Tyrant's offices while Sammo and Alaris were sweeping the armoury.

"Um, Lister, you know back there?" asked Jane, leaning back on plush black chair. "Back with the Jaegers. Did...did you really mean it?"

I felt my face burn as I thought about that kiss. I nodded hesitantly. "Yeah, Jane. Um, you don't mind, do you?"

She smiled, tension draining from her shoulders. "No, no problem. Well, was that because you owed me, or because – well, um, you _like_ me?"

Oh Jovi, I've only seen these things in holo-vids. My face felt like it was on fire. I hoped she didn't see me blushing like an idiot. But she probably did. "Well, ah, both. You know, yeah?"

Jane flushed as well, and hopped off the chair. "So, since you don't owe me any more, would you?" She stood in front of me awkwardly, brown eyes fixed on me. Her hands fidgeted and twisted, and she hurriedly pulled them behind her back. Oh Jovi. Half of me wanted to do it, the other half didn't. I jerked forwards, closing my eyes. Aw, what the hell. Let's do it.

I was so nervous I nearly missed. As far as kisses go it was horrendous. I hit the side of her mouth and worked my way in. Her lips were soft. So damn soft. I'd remember it for the rest of my life though. I didn't get that many after that.

I pulled back after a few seconds, grinning like a maniac. Jane beamed back at me, brushing a strand of loose hair off her forehead. "That was the third time I've been kissed," she said quietly.

Hot damn. I felt jealous. "Third time?" I croaked. My brain cell count had been halved after that.

"Well, I decided to count our other two as well," she jauntily replied. Whew.

"That's good to know," I said, very relieved. A thump sounded from the other room. We dived for our weapons and crouched behind a solid looking wood desk. Damn Ginasians! They had to ruin a good time.

"We found it!" Sammo called triumphantly. OK, having our time wrecked by Sammo wasn't much better. We rose from behind the desk, and Sammo bounded in, followed by the captain. The marine looked distinctly worse for wear. He held a large recorder like a gun.

"Come, we have our objective," he announced, brandishing the recorder. He suddenly sniffed, nostrils contracting dramatically. He winked at me. Winked! What on Sayre for?

We filed out, the marine slowing down to stride next to me. "Glad to see you are taking your chances, Lister."

Oh great. Congratulations from Mr. Human Mating Behaviours himself. "How?" I whispered. I hoped Jane didn't hear. Nor Sammo. He'd never stop laughing at us.

The marine tapped his nose. "Pheromones," he rumbled back, lost in thought. He jerked and turned to me, asking in a normal voice, "Lister, have you ever considered becoming a space marine?"

We froze, Jane and Sammo staring at me. Jane looked on the verge of panic, and Sammo gaped at me. Blood rushed to my head, thumping in my ears. A marine? A space marine? I thought back to when I first met Alaris, the robotic space marines, their uncaring brutality – apart from the captain, and how badly wounded they got. A lifetime of war. Death. All that sort of crap. No thanks. Even Jovi couldn't make me be one. I had a life to live. One look at Jane made my mind up.

"No, cap'. I haven't, nor do I want to be," I replied. "Why don't you ask Sammo?"

The marine nodded, obviously disappointed. "Sammo is too old. An initiate must still be in puberty to receive the implants without rejection."

I glanced at Jane, and my heart leapt. She was grinning ear to ear, eyes shining. Well, that's another reason not to be a marine. They didn't get girls like we normal humans did.

"So...what will you people do after we leave?" the captain continued after a short pause.

"I'll be a mechanic," said Sammo. "I'm not good at much else."

"Watch out for the people in red," muttered Alaris grimly. "Those Mechanicus types are awfully tight-fisted when it comes to technology. How about you, Jane?"

Man, this was the most talkative I'd seen of him in days. "I'll be a teacher," she said firmly. "A teacher at an orphanage. Perhaps I can make other kids' lives better, less like mine. I know it don't sound that impressive to you, cap', but I want to help people."

The marine shook his head. "To be a teacher is a high aspiration, girl. The children under you become your progeny, your legacy. Through them, you live forever. The lessons you teach shall be passed on through each generation. They will not remember you, as yourself, but they will remember your teachings. Lister, enlighten us."

I looked up at the sky, the stars fading as dawn grew close. "I want to be a spacer. I've always wondered what the galaxy would be like. Dunno, its been a dream for me since I was a kid. Perhaps I'll be one of those rogue traders, who go around finding new civilisations. Rogue Trader Captain Solas Lister, at your service."

"Ha! A dreary ambition, Lister. Only xenos and war lurk out in the cosmos. No, being a spacer would not be a good idea," mused the captain. "Perhaps you would join the Imperial Army? I could give any battle barge captain my commendations."

Hell no! I didn't want to be shackled to that Emperor forever! Not that I wasn't grateful for him coming to kill the Tyrant, but I wanted freedom. Jovi, I wanted to be a starship captain. A rogue trader had visited the orphanage one cold winter's day, swashbuckling his way through the gloomy orderlies and governesses. He had come to select the strongest and smartest children to serve as his crew. I could still remember puffing my chest out and trying to look impressive as he inspected us, and the sinking feeling as he tapped the kid on the right. That bastard. I swore to own a bigger starship than him when I grew up. It was my life ambition.

"Nah, I'd rather strike out on my own," I boldly replied. The captain gave a tired shrug and led us back into the hall.

"I have the objective, brothers," he called, waving the recorder. "Where is Lord Horus?"

A terminator turned to the captain. "Milord Horus has retired to the battle barge, brother-captain. He requests that you do the honours." Ha! Good riddance!

The marine grinned. "So I shall," he said, and turned to us. "And so _we_ shall."

Sammo connected a lead from the broadcast array, and fiddled with some buttons on the console. "Set to roll, people!" he announced cheerfully. The screens burst to life.

A black terminator strode in, dragging the eviscerated corpse of the Tyrant. Even though I had hated the man, I still felt the gorge rise in my throat. An oozing slick of blood followed the marine.

"Brother-captain, you might need some decorations," came its synthesised voice. The marine dumped the corpse at the captain's feet like a sack of offal. Well, it _was_ a sack of offal. Disgusting.

"Excellent. Lister, hold the camera. Jane, open the curtains," the captain instructed, grinning. "They used to have this saying on Ancient Terra. Lights, camera, action!"

I hit the 'record' button on the recorder, struggling to hold the bulky contraption upright. Jovi, it was heavy! The damn thing was meant to be mounted on a tripod. The captain looked into the camera, wearing his fiercest expression.

"People of Ginas, I am Captain Alaris of the Emperor's Luna Wolves. You are now subjects of the Imperium. Your Tyrant is dead, his palace is in ruins. Submit, and we shall show lenience. Or suffer the fate of your 'beloved' leader," he boomed mightily into the recorder. He wrenched the bloodied carcass of the Tyrant into view. "One hour to comply. Ave Imperator!"

I switched off the recorder, arms sore. Sammo's hands were a flurry as he fed the video into the city communication grid. Alaris pitched the Tyrant's body into a nearby chair, the corpse making a squelching sound. What the hell was he going to do with that bag of crap?

Obviously Jane was thinking the same thing. "Er, cap', what you doing with that corpse?" she asked hesitantly.

The marine blinked. "Posterity," he replied. "Some fools might claim we did not actually slay the Tyrant. Or say he is still alive. Rebellions start that way."

Well, that was grisly business, make no mistake. We averted our eyes from the body, trying to ignore the metallic tang of blood rising from the body. The marine tapped his earpiece, listening to reports on his 'vox' thingy. Slowly a smile spread across his face.

"My brothers report widespread surrenders," he announced gleefully. "A new world of the Imperium. Another jewel to the Emperor's crown! Long may he live!"

…...

"Honour guard, present – ARMS!" roared a marine. We stood at the top of the stairs that led from the front entrance of the palace. I gulped, and Jane clutched my arm in fear. Sammo gave a nervous cough. A vast cheering crowd had assembled behind the two lines of marines that formed a pristine white corridor leading to the gates. The noise hit me like a hammer blow. _Clack – SLAM!_ The marines swiftly drew back their bolters and stamped to attention in perfect synchrony. The sun started to rise, as if in salute.

"Hail, brother-captain! Honour guard ready for inspection!" called the same marine.

Alaris slammed his hand against his breastplate in response. His chipped armour was a battered grey to the other marine's ivory. He tilted his head towards us.

"Fear not. This is the honour you are due. Stand tall and proud!" he whispered, as we started forward. The terminators marched in a box around us, their footfalls precisely matching the captain's. The crowd roared its approval as we descended the stairs. Hell, I would probably wet myself now.

"Ave Imprato!" yelled a man. Jovi, he got it wrong so bad. The honour guard stood as still as statues, twin lines of glowing red eyes guiding us. A rain of flowers showered down on us, thrown by the ecstatic crowd.

Then a voice called out. "Look! The Freedom League! Three cheers for our heroes!" We ducked our heads down in embarrassment. "HUZZAH! HUZAAH! AGAIN! HUZZAH!"

"Chin up! This is your reward!" came the captain's amused comment. A trio of girls ran out and draped flowers around my neck, raining kisses on my face. I saw another group run out to Sammo. I felt myself flush, mortified. I turned to look at Jane, who was glaring daggers at the giggling girls, who had been prodded back into the crowd. She didn't have any flowers. Damn, if Jane wasn't my girl I'd have enjoyed the attention.

"Hey Jane, here," I said, drawing close and draping some flowers over her neck. She smiled at me in response. No, her attention was better than the whole of Sayre's.

"Thanks, Lister," she said gratefully. My heart warmed at her praise.

And we marched on out the gate and through the city to a cheering Ginas.

…...

"...and the great Bon Jovi descended from the heavens, bringing His blessings of Rock and of Roll through His holy 'lectric guitar. And humanity cheered as He lit up the sky, His glory igniting the stars that shine today. The great drums and keyboard beat their tune into the cosmos, creating the universal tune. And finally the base guitar spoke, creating the firmament. My children, the Tyrant sought to enslave His work, to yoke His loyal subjects to his will. But Bon Jovi is with us! I am living proof of that!"

A figure paced on the stage, booming his terrific oratory to the entirety of Ginas. The giant mane of wild hair and ball-bustingly tight pants marked his status as High Priest of Bon Jovi. He had been imprisoned by the Tyrant as a deviant and malcontent for preaching Bon Jovi's philosophy of freedom and independence. The first thing he did when he had been freed was to call a congregation that very evening. Jane stood next to me, holding my hand as we watched the priest. Sammo had disappeared with a crowd of swooning girls. Good luck to him. As for the captain, he had boarded a gigantic space plane straight after the parade.

"The eternal Jovi taught us the meaning of free will and liberty through the hallowed chords of his venerated music. Tonight, my children, we shall honour Jovi!"

The crowd gasped as the stage lit up in lights and smoke, the priest disappearing. Five flashes of light, and the crowd boomed its joy. _Flash! _The holy drum kit rose out of the floor, and a man settled down behind it. _Flash!_ A figure stood up, carrying the blessed base guitar. _Flash!_ The sanctified keyboard appeared. _Flash!_ A man brandished the divine 'lectric guitar. And _Flash!_ The High Priest flew onto the stage with a microphone, the crowd going wild. A concert! Blessed by the great Jovi! The sparks started to cascade from the stage, and strobe lights shone out into the night.

"People of Ginas! Let me tell you his words, through the one and only way of _ROCK AND ROLL!"_

And the divine chords of Jovi rang out from the speakers, washing over the cheering throng. It was _Livin' on a Prayer_, the song me and Jane had sung when we had first went. I held her close and we sung with the priest.

_...She says we got to hold on to what we've got_

_'Cause it doesn't make a difference whether we make it or not_

_We've got each other, and that's a lot for love_

I hugged Jane tighter, her arms wrapping around me.

_We'll give it a shot!_

Then the world-famous chorus rang out, to the cheers of the audience.

_WHOOOA—OOOOH!_

_LIVIN' ON A PRAYE – ER!_

_TAKE MY HAND WE'LL MAKE IT I SWEAR_

_OOOHH – OH! LIVIN' ON A PRAYER!_

The priest and guitarists rose in the air, still singing and playing. The people in the crowd yelled in joy as the priest and his retinue swept over them, touching their up-stretched hands. I felt Jane stiffen in shock as the High Priest flew towards us.

"Hail to the heroes of Sayre!" he roared in a gap between the lyrics. He clasped our hands warmly, and glided on. We opened our palms and found a gold medallion with the inscription: 'Walk with Jovi'. I gaped in shock. It was like being touched by the great Jovi himself. The song continued to the delight of the crowd, and then finally ended. Damn, so quick? We sagged in disappointment, thinking it was over.

"No! I have not finished!" shouted the priest, who had flown back onto the stage. Then the rough voice of the guitars sounded as _It's my __Life _began. That's more like it! The holy song reminded me of our time on the trucks. Jane and I jumped and danced in time to the beat with the entire of Ginas.

"Comon Lister! Comon!" Jane yelled joyfully, as I held her hands and leapt up and down. A giddy rush filled my head, and I swung Jane around and around. She laughed and her eyes sparkled.

I don't know when the ethano came in, but it did. It seemed like an hour before the priest began the love song _Always_. It was pash time. The crowd stilled and calmed as everyone paired off, swaying with the divine tune.

._..You see I've always been a fighter, but without you I give up  
_

_I can't sing a love song like the way it's meant to be _

_Well, I guess I'm not that good any more _

_But baby, that's just me _

_And I will love you, baby - Always_

_And I'll be there forever and a day - Always _

_I'll be there till the stars don't shine _

_Till the heavens burst and the words don't rhyme _

_And I know when I die, you'll be on my mind _

_And I'll love you - Always _

Jane held me tight as we danced, her body comfortably pressed up against me. She looked up at me.

"Lister, don't leave me. Don't be a spacer. Stay. Stay here with me," she murmured, eyes burning into mine. My heart went out to her. Fearlessly I bent down and kissed her mouth.

"I'll always be with you, Jane. All the galaxy couldn't stop me," I replied. I felt a small pang of guilt, as I said that. I hadn't really decided. But Jane smiled adoringly at me, and on we danced. The ethano created a warm fuzzy feeling in me, and in the sultry light Jane looked even more beautiful. Perhaps there was a future with her.

_...I'll be there till the stars don't shine _

_Till the heavens burst and the words don't rhyme _

_And I know when I die, you'll be on my mind _

_And I'll love you - Always _

The song ended, the crowd slowly separating. The priest called for silence. We stood in silence as a hush fell over the crowd. Then in a choked voice, he said, "Let us remember our loved ones long past, and to think of our loved ones now. Rejoice in their company, and – and remember this night."

A haunting guitar melody rang out from the stage, rising and falling. The priest drew in his microphone slowly, and began to sing. A shiver ran through the crowd. My heart began to pound at the raw passion in the words. I glanced at Jane. She licked her lips and looked back at me.

_...While we're talking about all of the things that I long to believe _

_About love and the truth and what you mean to me _

_And the truth is baby, you're all that I need_

Which was exactly what I felt about Jane. I turned to Jane and locked lips with her again, pressing up against her. She gasped as I enfolded her, and hugged me tighter. I don't know whether it was the ethano, or maybe Jovi acting through us that night. I remember stumbling along with Jane into a deserted warehouse, filled with primal desire. I remember the way we kissed passionately, fumbling with each other's clothes. I remember the way she looked into my eyes, and how I drowned in their liquid depths.

"Lister, are we?" she whispered, voice hoarse. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen that night. I never wanted to leave. We collapsed on a dusty wooden bench.

"Shh, Jane. I – I love you," I replied softly, bending down to kiss her. She smiled and closed her eyes, stretching out.

Through the cracked windows Bon Jovi's words came filtering through, the poignant words stirring our passion. I kissed Jane harder, and she responded in kind.

_...I want to be just as close as the Holy Ghost is _

_And lay you down..._

_On a bed of roses..._

And slowly, softly, the dust began to shake off the wooden bench and settle gently on the floor.

I won't go further than that. There's some things in life that you keep to yourself, and that's one of them.

**Firstly, I want to acknowledge Bon Jovi and Co. for the use of his lyrics. I also hope that readers enjoyed this chapter. I have **_**never**_** seen any fully-fledged celebration scenes in 40K stories, so I decided to write one. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. For the marine fans, the next chapter is the last on Sayre (damn!). From then on its FOR THE EMPRAH! See you laters! **


	13. Sayre: Goodbye to Happiness

**Colonelwalrus: Perhaps there'll be a Chaos God of Rock'n'roll who'll grant you that wish... Wink, wink. Star Child, except for Bon Jovi. Thanks for the review!**

**Alien26: Haha thanks man. Can you guess for whom the cities were named after?**

**Just realised this is the thirteenth chapter. Fitting...**

As the sun peeped its way into the dusty warehouse, I stretched and yawned on the wooden bench, groping for my gun. _Hang on_, I thought. The Tyrant was dead. No need. I felt something warm and heavy on my chest, and I looked down. It was Jane's head, a wild tangle of hair after last night's proceedings. I felt myself blush a little as I thought back to last night, but with a surge of pride. On impulse I brushed a little hair off her still face, and she gave a sleepy murmur. Jovi, I was lucky as hell to have her.

I gently eased myself out from under Jane, substituting my body with a rolled-up jacket. Where the hell was my gun? Gah, I'll just take Jane's pistol. Not like I'll need it anyway, but you never know. I quietly dressed myself, strapping on Jane's gun and tucking the priest's medallion into my pocket. A gust of wind blew through the cracked windows, drawing goosebumps. I hauled a piece of dusty canvas and shook the dust off it, then carefully placed it over Jane. She rolled over fitfully with a mutter. I hastily scrawled a note saying:

_Hey Jane,_

_Gone for a walk. Be back soon._

_Lister _

Now, where to? I deliberated for a second before stepping outside, breathing in the cool morning air. The air had an odd quality about it – a sort of refreshing flavour, with none of the funk of smoke and gun-cordite of these last few months. The smell of peace, I guess. I walked past the concert stage, now deserted and empty, its glory gone, but its memory eternal. I wondered where the High Priest had gone. I did want to ask him why he gave this to us, and how he picked us out of the crowd. Oh well, he's probably back on tour. It was part of that man's duty to bring the word of Jovi to all parts of Sayre, no matter how far away. I suppose I'll ask him next time I see him.

Turning into the market, I watched the store owners unravel their goods for the day and unpack their wares. Some of them gave me a friendly wink, and even a salute. Man, being a hero can be embarrassing. One kid ran up to me for my signature. I told him I didn't have one, so I just scrawled my name on a tattered piece of paper he proffered. He ran back cheering to his store while his mistress harangued him.

"The boy's a nuisance, sir, I'll make sure he's punished," the owner gushed frantically. It seemed like she was under the impression that I was going to kill her for that. The woman slapped the boy in head as if to placate me. He gave an indignant yell as her hand connected with his pate. Poor bastard, maybe I could do something.

"Madam, if you don't stop that, _you'll_ be the one that's punished," I growled in my most menacing voice. I tapped Jane's pistol in a threatening way. She blanched and laid her hands off the kid. Ha! That did the trick. I gave a cheery wink to the odd pair and strode off. The boy waved goodbye at me.

Peace felt odd. Very odd. After nearly a year of roadtrips and fighting with the SFL I couldn't remember how it was like to kick back and relax. It was run and gun, day in and day out. I thought of it as a great thrill when it first started, but then it just got tiring. Dangerous and tiring. Relaxing was a difficult thing to do, as my eyes kept flicking over dark corners and giving any shifty figures a once-over. _Relax_, I thought to myself. _It's all over_.

But there did seem to be someone shadowing me. A cold sweat broke out, and I resisted the urge to run. _It's all over. It's all over_, I muttered to no one. I gulped and unbuttoned the holster, battle instincts taking over. The street seemed to be deserted, strangely dead in the morning. It was utterly silent. Not a soul was here with me. Bloody hell, I should not have gone off on this walk.

_Clink._

I whirled around, tugging my gun free.

"Who's there?"

Silence. Dead silence.

"Hello?"

_Clink._

My heart hammered in my chest. Sweat ran in rivulets down my body.

_Clink._

Then I noticed a red dot on my chest. And another. And another. What the hell was-

Targeting lasers! I leapt to the side with a crunch, my shoulder grating badly against the ground. _Bam! Bam!_ _Bam!_ A hail of stubber fire sliced through the spot where I was standing. The entire street suddenly erupted in a storm of lead. Jovi bloody damn! I yelled as bullets smashed into the concrete around me, the shards razor sharp. I fired wildly at the nearest muzzle flashes, forgetting to aim.

Then silence.

"Recruit Solas Listern. Such is the fate of deserters."

It was Grevan.

…..…...

How that turdface survived has always escaped me. I never managed to find out. But I did find out how he managed to convince anyone with half a brain to follow him. The bastard lobotomised my platoon.

_Clink._

A combat servitor wearing the waxy face of Holdern stumbled into view. The kid who could blow gum bubbles a foot wide, and then let them pop to the laughter of the entire orphanage. That face now had cables cruelly inserted into the nose and cheeks. He – it hefted its right arm, which was now a heavy stubber.

_Clink._

The mechanised remnants of Zyva shambled towards me, pointing a pair of elbow mounted guns at me. I had once fancied that girl. Now I stared in horror at its body, a red blotchy mess of putrefaction – the result of a shoddy conversion procedure. I felt tears form in my eyes as its lips moved incoherently, the last vestiges of humanity still apparent in the machine.

_Clink._

My old friend Fryec rolled out from behind a building, his real legs terminating in an infected mess just above the knees. Beyond that was a set of tracks. His lobotomised shell turned towards me and trained its shoulder-gun at me. Its eyes were emptier than space itself.

_Clink – clink – clink_. What remained of my platoon assembled around me – a macabre reunion – minus the fond memories. A bloody crime against Jovi. Grevan's fetid stench washed over me as he knocked me to the ground. My chest was a red mass of laser dots, so I decided to stay put. _I'll get you, scum_, I snarled in my head. I clenched my pistol underneath my body in impotent rage. He hadn't yet noticed I still had it.

"Well, well. Solas Listern. Do you know how much I've wanted to kill you these past few days? All your pompous parading around the city, wrecking our dear leader's work. So tough, eh? How tough are you without those marine friends of you, eh? Eh? Nothing, you worthless shit!"

A vicious kick slammed all the air of me. I screamed as I felt bones break. Grevan wrenched me up by the collar. Pure agony coursed through my chest.

"I'm ain't gonna kill you yet, little shit. I'm gonna make you pay first," he hissed, spit flying out. Even in a daze of pain I still felt disgust. I raised my hand to wipe it off, which he rewarded with a stunning blow to the head. I blacked out for a second.

Wrenched back into the world. I was on the ground, Grevan towering over me with a machine pistol in his hand. I scrabbled for Jane's pistol, but the pain made me nearly black out again. _Jovi spare me,_ I begged to the heavens. _Make my end quick_. He fired.

Nothing. Being shot doesn't hurt at first. But I felt a blow at my stomach, like a someone had punched me there. Wheezing, I looked down helplessly to see the first of the blood leak out of my stomach. Then the pain. Oh Jovi, the pain. But I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me scream. Oh no, no way in hell. Grevan's filthy toe nudged my face.

"Stomach wounds. How inconvenient. It usually takes around two hours to die as the acid of your stomach slowly eats through you. A painful death, so I've heard."

I spat blood on the pavement. "Go...to...hell."

_SLAM!_ I bucked violently as he fired again, this time into my chest. I choked as the air rushed out of me. My vision blurred as I struggled for air, and a deep chill settled into my chest. Jovi was coming to take me.

"Did I ever tell you how much I hated your mouth? I just wanted to cut out your tongue. Or feed you shit when you were a nice servitor. How does it feel, eh? Can't talk no more, eh? EH?"

A hysterical note crept into his voice. I could hear it even through my delirium of pain. I painfully grinned and drew what breath I could. Blood bubbled through my teeth as I cursed him. The worst Sayrean curse of all.

"Ffffbff...uckk...you..."

_SLAM!_ Another bolt of torment slashed its way into my left shoulder. I gritted my teeth, screaming in pain only in my head. The world darkened as Grevan leaned over me.

"Oh, you're not gonna die any time soon. You're gonna have to wait for your stomach acids to burn through you. Or your shoulder artery to eventually burst. Or for you to run out of air. Now, who was that girl who ran off with you?"

Jane. Oh Jovi, not Jane too.

"...yeah, when I catch her, I'm gonna tell her all about you. How you bled and died like a dog. Then...I'm gonna have some fun with her. That's right, she'll be all mine. Oh – that's the name – Jane Dell."

Something snapped in me. Something animal, something primal. I had to save Jane. Nothing else mattered. I jerked my hand out from behind me, strength rushing into me. I howled my rage.

"EEAAARGGHH!"

Jane's pistol went off, catching Grevan in the throat. He fell back with a gurgle, vainly clutching his neck as blood spurted out. I fell back, utterly spent. The world began to grow cold and fade. The servitors didn't seem to matter any more.

"_Comon Jane, let's roll!"_ My voice came back to me like a dream.

"_...a normal, good life,"_ A life I'd never have. But Jane's voice sent some warmth tingling through me.

Her eyes. Those starry eyes. They had stared into mine unerringly, lovingly, the night before, never wavering.

"_Lister, don't leave me..."_ she had begged.

My promise sent a wrench of guilt through my failing heart. My words echoed in my ears, _"I'll always be with you, Jane."_

I closed my eyes and settled myself. _I'm sorry Jane, I couldn't keep that promise._

Then a roar filled my thoughts, or- What the hell? Was that real? Alaris?

"FOR THE EMPEROR!" came his battle cry. The other voice sent a shiver of happiness through me.

"Lister! Lister!" It was Jane. Now I could die happy. I opened my eyes again, seeing nothing but dim blurs.

I heard screeches and bangs, probably Alaris dismantling the servitors. Soft hands touched me, lifting me up. A shadow loomed over me - I knew it was Jane. I felt a wetness on my face, mine or hers, I never knew.

"Lister, wake up! Wake up!" she sobbed. Her shadow turned around hysterically, screaming. My hearing faded into nothing, and I tried to open my mouth to speak.

"...oh..." came my pathetic response. Just that. Fifteen years of living compressed into that one pitiful syllable. An entire existence. "...oh..."

I had an impression of being picked up and carried. Of soft hands caressing my face.

Then I let go.

And everything was nothing.

**And now, dear readers, things get power armoured and gratuitously epic. But I hope you enjoyed the prequel! I think that's one of the most important things about a person, be it marine or human – their past. **

**PS. Could you guys do me a favour please? I want to know what I did do well and didn't do well in this story arc, and hopefully weed out the crap. Thanks! **


	14. Initiate: The Conscript

**Colonelwalrus: Haha, who would worship the Emprah when there's Bon Jovi? (OH SHIT COMMISSAR) **_**BLAM.**_

**Clickaholic Anonymous: Glad to see you back man. I'm glad to see that my writing was so immersive at the end. I'll try keep it up. Thanks!**

Pain. A babble of voices. A higher one, shrill but strident. A deep growl.

Pain. A lance of agony in the deep pulsings of the chest. Hands scrabble at my chest. Fades.

Pain. A roar, the earth shakes. A flying sensation. Then the hurt comes back. Must – sleep.

Pain. A rag doll in ceramite hands. Dismissive voices. Anger and disbelief. A sharp jerk. A flood of pain once more.

Darkness. Worried murmurs. Cool fingers probe.

Numb. So numb. Jane's image flashes, and disappears. Grief. She is gone.

A plunge. A ripple. _Welcome to my home, little fish,_ hisses a voice. Eyes in the dark. Righteous fury. Something lashes out. A cry of annoyance, and it is gone.

Down, down. A canker of agony grows and grows. I cry out, in my head, or though my mouth? Slipping down now, down, down...

Again the pain. And again. And again. _Let me die, die, die..._ I scream. But no one listens. Jovi is gone. Sammo is gone. Jane is gone.

The pain goes. I slumber.

…...

Black. I prised open my eyelids, blinking to clear the gunk out. A grey metal ceiling stared back overhead. _Where the hell am I?_

I gasped and choked, my mouth as dry as the roads of Sayre. My mind flashed back to where Jane and the captain had found me. _I'm not dead!_ I realised. I would have cheered, if not for the lack of moisture in my mouth. I tried to move, but a jolt of agony transfixed my chest.

Now, where was Jane? In the holo-vids they always waited for the sick guy to recover, camping next to their hospital beds until they woke up. Obviously she wasn't one for cliches. A headache began to throb in my skull.

A bang shook the room, and I gingerly twisted my neck around for a better look. Argh! Even that hurt. My neck bones grated sorely. I must have been out for a while. Man, this was such a bad hospital. There wasn't even a call button for the nurse.

"You are not meant to be conscious. Sleep," commanded a voice. I awkwardly craned my neck around to stare at a white armoured space marine. Not Alaris. What the hell? I felt a slight sting at my neck, lethargy taking over immediately. A thought crossed my mind. _What is a marine doing in a hospital..._

Then the sleep took me.

…...

As I sunk into the morass of dreams, I felt something awaken in me. Something primitive, something deep, but right. I suddenly saw the universe flash by me, silent tableaus to the triumph and follies of humanity.

There was a weeping young woman, setting down a baby at the doors of a cold orphanage. She hastily wiped away tears as she wrote its name on the box it was in. I moved forward sluggishly, as if walking through a great wind. She jerked around frantically, scanning the surroundings, and gave the tiny bundle of life a final kiss before running off with a quiet sob. I reached the box just as the world faded. I read the inscription. _Solas Listern_.

Screams and panicked shouts rang in my ears, dark silhouettes flittering about. I looked at the ground, a arm here, a leg there, a bloodied head rolling. Iridescent flames leapt up, feeding off the death and chaos about me. A crunch of gravel, and a man strode up to me, yet this was no man, but a monster! Its eyes glowed with an unnatural shading, purple on black, ever shifting. As I watched, horns sprouted out of his ears. "Despair and die!" it hissed, beams of witchery spearing through me. I faded away.

The chink of a spoon on a plate awakened me. "I would like that horrid star gotten rid of, Hetty. It ruins the night sky," came a petulant voice. I looked about, surrounded by lavish opulence. Silk drapings, fur cushions and jewellery covered the room. Yet it was the fop in at the head of the table that caught my eye. Covered in gold, he was, and diamonds too. A languid flick of his wrist rearranged the room, replacing the treasure-covered room with a tropical villa, and again to a snowy palace. I reached forward to take a diamond, but began to fade once more. The man's voice followed me as I went. "Hetty, could we install an asteroid belt? It would look awfully nice..."

I landed in the middle of a cheering crowd. Ahead lay a leviathan of a starship, and a single man at a podium. "...and on this day, my brothers and sisters, mankind takes to the stars. Though we will die, and our children as well, our grandchildren shall pass on our glorious legacy on those nameless planets. Our names will forever be written among the constellations. From this day forward, the stars are ours!" The crowd gave a vast cheer and surged forwards. The scene disappeared.

I saw the great Bon Jovi in flesh, singing to vast yelling crowds. I saw a great mushroom cloud, a felt an inexplicable sense of grief. I saw vast forts and monuments being raised and torn down; a wall; a pyramid; a statue. The ages of man flickered past my eyes, what was done, and what could have been done. Of wrongs and rights of history, the nobility of humanity and its darkest depths.

_Tap, tap, tap._ A hairy, fur-covered man squatted beside a pathetic pile of grass, shivering in the frigid cold. The cruel wind howled its derision at his antics. He grasped two stones, rhythmically banging them against each other. _Tap, tap, tap_. A grunt of frustration sounded as nothing happened. I squatted down next to him, a silent wraith, a ghost, but a brother in misery. A glint of intelligence flickered in the man's eye, and he cocked his arm back. _Tap!_ A spark flew from the stones, and caught by the grass began to burn slowly. The man leapt up and cried out his victory, banging the two stones together manically. And so the first human was born.

…...

One hundred thousand years later, aeons after my long-dead brother had turned to dust, I banged my head against the bedpost as I awoke. Argh! Groaning, I slowly heaved my body up, fearful of the pain. But surprisingly, there was none. I looked down at my bare chest. Three puckered scars dotted my body, a testament to that bastard Grevan's work. But wait! Another scar traced its way down the right side of my chest, this time long and thin, cut with surgical precision. I gingerly poked it.

"You are a contrary patient, boy," rang a deep voice. "You are shot three times, yet you refuse to die. I sedate you once, but you wake up prematurely. I sedate you again, and you once more refuse to wake up at your prescribed time. Instead, you wake up three days beforehand. Four weeks is supposed to be four weeks. You possess a stern constitution, it seems."

I whirled around. A giant stood before my bed, arms crossed with an irritated expression. It was clear that he was a space marine, even without the armour. I gaped at him for a second.

"Where's Jane? Where's Alaris? And where the hell am I?"

He clicked his tongue in annoyance. "You should learn to curb your tongue, boy. Address anything in power armour as 'sir'. I have informed Captain Alaris of your awakening, he will be here shortly. This 'Jane', I do not know of. As for your location, you reside on the battle barge _Drops of Jupiter_."

Oh Jovi, I've been abducted! I scrambled out of my sheets, but the marine pushed me back effortlessly.

"Steady, initiate. I have taken the liberty of inserting your secondary heart while you were unconscious, as well as the Biscopea and Ossmodula. I am quite sure that they are well bedded-in by now, but one cannot be too careful."

What? Did he just call me _initiate_? Secondary heart? Oss-what?

Then it struck me. The guy thought I was a marine! Oh Jovi, not bloody good. Not good at all. I had to get back to Sayre. I turned to the marine.

"Ah...sir, there's been a mistake. I didn't – I dunno – sign up to be a marine? You've got the wrong guy, I'm sure. If you could send me on a shuttle back to Sayre, I'd really...appreciate it."

The guy shook his head, amused. "No, I am sure we have the boy from the captain's recordings. He carried you in, blood and all. Took me some time to be convinced that you were an aspirant worth saving, but here we are. Ah, here comes the man himself."

A knock on the door. "Enter!" called the marine.

Alaris strode in, clad in armour, which was now a clean ivory-white. I wanted to punch him in the face. How the hell could he have mixed up the hospital with his bloody space ship? He smiled slightly as he saw me sitting up. Jovi, he still could not read expressions. I was glaring daggers at him.

"Brother apothecary, may I speak with your patient alone?" he asked.

"Of course, brother-captain." With that he strode off, carrying a stack of clanking vials.

"I'm glad to see you are well," he began awkwardly.

Silence.

"How the hell did I end up here?" I demanded, temper rising. "And when can I get back?"

He stared right back at me and sighed. "Lister, when we found you, you were nearly dead. The city hospital had been destroyed in the assault. The only appropriate medical facilities were in orbit with the fleet. So...I took you with me, with the intent to find you healing, and then return you to your homeworld. However, I did not expect the Apothecarium to be so...pragmatic. 'If he's not a marine he's not worth saving!' they all said to me. You were almost at the edge when I decided to pass you up as a successful aspirant. I showed my suit recordings of you to Apothecary Klyne here. And so he healed you."

"And made me a marine," I finished. I felt a great bitterness rise in my chest.

"Yes, an Astartes. You can never go back, Lister. The investment of those organs in you would lead to your recapture by the legion if you ever attempted to leave."

_We'll see about that,_ I said to myself. I sulkily muttered, "Why didn't you let me die?"

"What's done is done, Initiate Lister. You were grievously wounded and dying. All the facilities on Sayre would not have saved you. It would be a crime to let such a good fighter go to waste. A crime for you, for the Imperium, and for Jane. Ah, I have something for you from her."

_Initiate_. That word wounded like a death-curse to me.

He pulled out a small package. I opened it and its contents spilled out. The priest's gold medallion. Jane's pistol and belt. A single tear-stained letter. That was all that remained of home for me.

"Hate me if you will, Lister. But your Jane saw the logic in saving you. You might have been a hero on Sayre, but as a marine you will become a legend. Perhaps, one day, she might hear of your exploits and rejoice. Or maybe you might see each other again. Where there is war there is also hope, remember that. Ah – and you initiates are not supposed to keep personal affects, so keep these well-hidden."

I fingered the small medallion, thinking about my fate. I clenched my fist, mind made up. He wasn't such a bad guy.

"Thank you, cap'," I said. But I resolved I would still try to get away at the first opportunity. Count on it.

"Glad to see you are making sense, initiate. But try not to be so...colloquial with my other brothers. Address any marine as 'sir', and captains as 'my lord'. Ha! You remind me of my younger self sometimes."

Not likely, I thought to myself. Even I couldn't be that socially retarded. Aw hell, he didn't deserve that. He was around a hundred years old. I should cut come slack for the elderly.

"How?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"Hmmmm. I was born on Terra, what most of you colonials call Earth. Have you heard of Cardinal Tang of the Yndonesic Bloc?"

The what what of the _what_? I shook my head, mystified.

"You haven't? That man was infamous. The genocidal 'Ethnarch'. Are you sure you haven't heard of him? He would make your Tyrant look like a harmless old monk. Well, I was one of the 'inferiors' in his eyes, so my people were persecuted. So naturally, we rose up and fought. Oh, it was bloody."

His eyes were misty. I could tell he was the type that liked to fight. He continued, ploughing on.

"Yes, guerilla warfare and fifth column business, just like you and your friends. I suppose that is why I decided to go with you children. It reminded me of my time on the speeder canoes, battling war cruisers on the waves of the Torraz Straits. Hmph. Enough of me. Now, initiate, work hard and strive to be the best. I hope – no, I know – that we will meet each other again, as brothers."

Oh damn, that's so not going to happen. Not that I didn't like Alaris, but I had a life to live. Suddenly, a thought struck me.

"Cap', will I be serving under you?"

He shook his head. "The 24th does not take initiates. Took much contamination of knowledge and techniques, they say," he said, bitterness clear in his voice. "Apparently we do not fight like normal marines should. Instead..."

He bent down, looking at the data slate at the foot of my bed. I noticed he had a new mechanical right hand. "You will serve under Captain Haran of the 17th Company. A solid commander, if a little unimaginative. Your transfer to his ship will occur later today. Oh yes. If it's any consolation, I marked your world as culturally unsuitable for marine recruitment. You will be the only Sayrean marine to walk the stars. I bid you farewell, Initiate Solas Lister. May we meet again as brothers."

With that, he marched out of the room. I groaned in annoyance. No comfort to me, being the only guy from Sayre in the Astartes. I wasn't suited to this marine claptrap. Hell, I didn't even _speak_ like one. They all seemed to have this heavy, ponderous tone in their voices. Maybe it was a Terran thing. As I shifted I heard a small rustle.

The letter! Jane's letter! I hastily opened it, and peered at the tear smeared writing.

_Dearest Lister,_

_I don't have much time, so please forgive me if I'm too brief. You're slipping away too fast._

_I just wanted you to know that I love you. Yes, I love you. Even when you walk on some distant planet, look up to the stars and I'll be with you. Don't you ever forget. I don't think you're going to come back._

_But at least you got your wish, didn't you? Just remember me, and the short time we spent together. And please, please, send me something to show me that you're alive. I couldn't bear life without knowing._

_The captain's coming, you gotta go. Walk with Jovi, Lister._

_With all my love,_

_Jane_

I sighed and kneaded my temples, feeling the hot burn of tears forming. _Why is life so unfair?_ I raged. Damn, that could have become something if I'd stayed. A loud bang of the door announced the apothecary's entry. I hurriedly tucked my things back into the package.

"On your feet, initiate. We shall commence testing."

…...

Starships! An entire fleet of them! They stretched on for kilometres, filling up the little portholes of the shuttle I was in. I gasped as one fired up its massive engines, filling the black void with light. A dozen other ships scattered as the leviathan began to move. The towering crenellations and carvings glittered icily back at me, monuments of the Imperial might. I suddenly felt tiny, an ant next to these behemoths. The people around me glared at my antics, inured to the incredible spectacle around us. I think they were legion serfs and such. They didn't seem too muscly or overly psychotic.

I eventually sat back down, having taken my fill of the view. My legs burned pleasantly, the result of intense exercise with the apothecary guy. I wasn't even tired at the end of it. Two hearts did seem to do the trick. I was now dressed in a loose baggy shirt, a small Luna Wolves emblem stitched to the right side of it. The pants appeared to be military issue, as were the boots. My mop of black hair had been roughly shaved to a black stubble. I rubbed the sore spots as I waited for the shuttle to dock.

_Boom. _The shuttle shook as it connected with the vast expanse of battleship. A while later the cargo ramp hissed down, the shuttle's occupants filing out, carrying their belongings and cargo. I clutched the little package I had as I stepped out into the cargo bay. Jovi, it was huge. The roof was at least thirty metres up. A servitor scurried past me, and I shuddered involuntarily. It had the same vacant expressionless features that my old orphanage mates had. It was a dead thing pretending to be alive. Now I understood why the Ancients preferred thinking machines. Until they decided to rebel.

"Initiate! Are you the transfer from the 24th?" called a bored voice from over head.

I looked up at the gantry overhead. A withered-looking man looked back at me. Even from a distance I could see something was wrong with his leg. I leapt up the metal steps, hoping not to offend. I approached him apprehensively.

"Yeah, buddy. I'm the fella from the 24th."

"Transfer!" came the vitriolic reply. He stumped up there stairs without a backwards glance. Man, he definitely had something stuck up his craw. "Follow, idiot!"

I hurried after him, already annoyed. "Look, what's your problem buddy? I haven't even done anything to you."

"Ha! Yes you have, you little squit! Look at you, with all your high and mighty marine aspirations, walking around like you own everything!" he raved. Urgh. I wiped a bit of his spittle off my face with the back of my sleeve.

"Hey buddy, I didn't even wanna be a marine. I didn't bloody ask for this," I shot back.

He abruptly wheeled around and stuck his mug in my face. "Don't want to? DON'T WANT TO? You stupid waste of air! You know how many people want to be marine? I want –"

He cut himself off, swearing and cursing under his breath. He had a very pronounced limp, I noticed. We didn't speak until we reached a metal door marked with the legion's wolf's head emblem.

"Here's high and mighty land for initiates. Supposed to be for the ones who want it, but I guess they lowered their standards," he sneered.

He shambled away. Good riddance.

…...

I opened the door tentatively. Silence greeted me. I looked about. Three doors.

"Hello?" I called.

"Hey dude! Ya' tha' new guy, eh?" yelled a coarse voice from the end of the corridor.

"Yeah, buddy! Hey look, I'm searching for a bunk." I shouted back.

"Come'ere then. Ah' need'a bunkie, ser I guess ya it!" the voice called. "The sarge is owt wid' one a' the fellas. Rest are'owt a'praticsin'. Help me finish these beers!"

He had a heavy Feckulian drawl which I recognised instantly. The Feckulian system was right next door to the Sayrean system, and there was a lot of trade between the two. Back at home, the marketplaces would often ring with Feckulian voices as they sold their over-priced off-worlder wares.

_Back at home,_ I thought sadly as I walked down to the voice.

"How ya' doing dude?" drawled a lanky looking guy, who was surrounded by empty metal cans. The entire room reeked of ethano. Beer, I think, was the Feckulian equivalent of ethano. He ran a hand through his dirty red hair, trying to comb it up. It failed. He stuck out a grubby hand and we introduced ourselves.

"Aye, so 'ow the hell did ya' end up in this dump?" asked Sky. His full name was Royd Skylan, but his old friends had called him Sky back on Feckulia.

I told him my story – just without the fun bits. You know what I mean. I don't think Jane would have appreciated it at any rate.

"How about you?" I queried.

"Me? Dammit, they musta' picked up the wrong guy, by Toorett. Ah' mean, I was just sleepin' at the spaceport, and a bunch of fellas comes up ta' me and asks if me name's Skylan. Ah' says 'yeah', and they drag me into the spaceport. Was too focking drunk ta' care, dude. Then ah' wake up here."

I baulked at his curse. On Sayre that curse was the worst of the worst, more a mortal insult than a mere swear word. But on Feckulia it was different, I heard. Apparently profanities were regarded as homage to their god Toorett. Who was obviously not a god. Only Bon Jovi was and ever could be.

"How you get all this?" I pointed at the scattered ethano cans on the ground. Sky grinned wolfishly.

"Oh, round an' about. I got me ways."

I nodded and turned away, grief rising up my chest. I sat down heavily on a bunk and busied myself tidying it up.

He looked at me piercingly, eyes now filled with serious intent. "Lister, ya' didn't wanna come'ere, roight? Join the Imperium an' all?"

"Nah Sky, never wanted to," I said. I felt a spark of hope as I waited for his reply. Maybe I wasn't so alone after all.

He grinned and offered me a can. "Join the club, dude. One day soon, we'll bust outta here."

The lid popped and fizzled cheerily, just like my spirits. No, I wasn't alone. I raised my can in salute, and he did the same.

"To freedom!" I cheered heartily.

"Aye, ta' freedom!" he replied with a smile.

Our cans bashed together, splashing foam on the floor. Jovi, the thought of freedom never tasted so good.

**Alright, Lister's first introduction to the Astartes. Ever since I started writing this fic, I realised that Lister would realistically not want to be an Astartes. Ironic, isn't it? A space marine conscript. I sort of stumbled into this plot, but I seem to like it. I hope you guys like it as well. Laters!**

**PS. Guess what Feckulia is named after. Then work out what Toorett means. Have fun...**


	15. Initiate: The Knight and the Drunk

**O'Shovah: I'll try to keep it from becoming gratuitous swearing, or else this'll get moved to M rated. Which will be lame. But yes, expect great amounts of RAEGE and FUREH. Oh, Toorett's the god. Sorry if that wasn't clear.**

**Alien26: Thanks man! I might write a little on Feckulia later on, I'll see how it goes.**

**Clickaholic Anonymous: I'm going to stick to scouts for a while, since geneseed DOES take take around six years to implant, not a few months (urgh the wait). Even I'm pushing canon by letting Lister join so late, but I think it's plausible, and I hope you think so too. I'll try emphasise the pre-Heresy-ness a bit more. Thanks for your comments!**

"Unnnrrrggghh..." Sky collapsed on the ground after the last can of 'beer', utterly inebriated. For every one can I had, he had at least four. I lost count of how many cans I had after the fifth. Gah, the room was spinning. I sat down on the ethano-sodden floor, too woozy to care.

The door opened. Oh hell, it better not be someone important. I pitched face-first into the ground.

"Pray tell, sirrah, is thou our new comrade?" came a new voice. A shadow crossed the doorway.

Even through my drunken delirium I managed to think '_what the hell...'_ The Astartes seemed to be full of nutters. I groaned and dragged myself upright.

"Yeah, buddy," I muttered, propping my rubbery body against the bed. I promptly slid back down. "Who are you?"

"I? Thou may'st call me Helfort. Jyon Helfort, sirrah, at thy service."

Jovi, he sounded like one of those characters in those medieval holo-films. The ones that went around with swords and axes and capes, chopping up things in flashy bouts of choreography. I wondered what misbegotten planet he had come from.

"Well Helfort buddy, do me a – a service and get a bucket of water, urgh..." I replied. A dose of freezing water was the best remedy for ethano. Straight to the face.

"Aye, sirrah. Thou seems to be of need of it," he agreed cheerily. He disappeared for a moment. I crawled over to Sky's inert form and shook his shoulder.

"Uh, buddy, get up man. Sky, get up..."

No response. He was completely spaced out. I had only a moment to flinch before a wave of cold water hit my face. Oh hell! I gasped as I was drenched. At least I was half sober now. I shook my head like a dog to clear some of the water.

His ice-blue eyes peered at me curiously, and like me his dirty half-brown-half-yellow hair had been shaved to his scalp. He had a narrow aquiline nose, with a small scar crossing horizontally across it.

"Thou seems to be cured now. I entreat thou to reveal thy name," he asked.

I could feel the gears in my brain grinding as I struggled to decipher that. Smoke rose out of my ears as they clanked to a halt.

"Say again?" I said, defeated.

"Pray, inform me of thy name," he said slowly, as if talking to a child. Oh, that was it!

"Lister, buddy. Solas Lister." I stuck out my hand to shake, which was ignored. Instead, he gave me a small bow. Jovi, this guy really was from the holo-vids. My new friend Helfort looked at Sky's unconscious form with slight distaste.

"Thou is shackled to that cretin? I do not envy thou. One cannot begin to understand what issues from his lips."

I snorted. Jovi, how ironic. I could barely understand what Helfort was saying either. But to be fair, Sky's heavy accent was damn near gibberish at times. He didn't seem to have grasped the concept of pauses or punctuation. It all poured out of him like one giant word. An annoyed muffled voice sounded from Sky's direction.

"Oi, ya a'speakin' wit that eejit? How the fock youse unnastand what he's sayin'?" he yelled into the floor.

"I know not of what thou says, but I stand assured that it is not of import!" retorted our medieval friend. It took me a few seconds to work out what he was saying.

"What? What? Ah' dunno what youse sayin', dude! Speak proper bloody Gothic!"

I doubled over laughing. Man, hypocrites were the funniest of people. When I finally stopped they were both looking me irritably.

"Dost thou find mirth in his stupidity?" growled Helfort.

"You laughin' at me, punk?" snarled Sky. He grinned a fanged smile, cracking his knuckles. For a moment I thought he was actually serious.

A bang sounded from the outer door of the initiates' quarters. We jumped at the sound.

"All initiates left in here, report to the training hall for aptitude testing," announced a serf.

A groan from Sky. "Help me up," he pleaded, offering a hand. Sighing, I took it and heaved him up.

…...

"Where is this place?" I asked Helfort. Sky had an arm draped over my shoulders, mumbling incoherently. Man, the guy was _heavy_. And that wasn't helped by the fact that Helfort refused to touch Sky.

"It is beneath me to begrime mine hands on such lunatics," he had informed me before we had set out. Jovi, the guy could be a bit of a prat sometimes.

"Mine ears did not hear thou. Mayhap thou wouldst speak a little louder?" he replied. He obviously had as much difficulty understanding my Sayrean accent as I had with his. _How could he?_ I thought. My accent didn't mangle words or absolutely destroy Gothic like they did.

"Where – is – this – hall?" I enunciated slowly. He nodded, finally comprehending what I was saying.

"We proceed down this hallway and turn left after a hundred spans. Fear not, friend Lister, thou shall learn this iron maze soon enough."

_Friend_. He had called me a friend. I felt my spirits lift for the second time that day. Perhaps life in the Astartes would be bearable after all. I smiled back at him as led us towards the training hall place. But I had no idea what a 'span' was.

"So where ya come from, Helfort?" I asked, trying to make conversation. _Must be a hell of a strange place_, I mused.

"I hail from the Great Mountains of Hibernia, once a knight-in-training of the Lord Montcliffe. Perhaps thou hadst heard great deeds of valour of our soldiery?" I shook my head. "Ah, thou is sadly inchoate if thou has not known the bravery of the men of Hibernia. I shall enlighten thou with the tales of greatest import."

Oh hell, story time. Still, it took my mind off Sky's ever increasing weight.

"Deep in the mists of antiquity, there was once a man named Hibern. He alone led a herd of great flying beasts into the skies of as unknown land, fleeing a nameless terror caused by evil witchcraft and sorcery. These wondrous beasts would swallow men whole, but feed and clothe them inside their entrails! Hibern, in his eternal wisdom settled deep in the Great Mountains, and compelled his beasts of burden to spew forth their meals. 'Suffer not the witch to live,' he told his adoring people, and so gladly they hewed rock and steel to make our impregnable bastions. And so Hibernia was born, named in his everlasting name. That is the first story of mine people."

"Hell, that's one good yarn. We had something like that back at my planet – land, yeah. What about _your_ story, buddy?" I said, actually impressed. Sayre's story was something along those lines as well.

"Ah. As a wee lad, I began to yearn to find those marvellous beasts of old, and ascend the heavens like the great Hibern did. _Wanderlust_, mine masters called it, and cursed me for my impetuous ways. When the great armoured knights of the Star-Emperor came in their metal hawks, I could not resist. There was the chance to find my dreams, and so I went with them when it was time."

"How you manage to get in the space marines? Is there some sort of trial to enter?" I asked. _Well, I know one of the ways is to stage a revolution_, I thought wryly. _Or nearly get killed._

"There was a great pageant-of-arms, followed by feats of strength and valour. I myself slew six great boars with mine spear. Then, the few remaining among us gathered at the hallowed grounds to duel. And so I won through, wresting this prize from ten of my peers."

Right. Note to oneself - do not make this guy angry. We turned into a steel archway, the inscription proclaiming: _Long live the Emperor!_, and in smaller letters: _Training Hall_. The clash of weaponry assaulted my ears as I walked in. Racks upon racks of weapons lined the walls. A steely voice rang out.

"Tardiness is not a virtue of the Legionnes Astartes, initiates. You would do well to arrive on time," growled a shaggy bear of a man. No, not a man. A marine.

He stalked towards us, clad not in power armour but in a lighter sort of plate. He was still a man-mountain however, having at least a foot on me. I gulped as he loomed over us. I stared at the cluster of lightning bolts adorning his barrel chest, and the bandolier of ammunition strapped across it.

"Well?" he snapped. 'Well' what? I took a guess.

"Ah, reporting for duty – uh, sir?" I hazarded. We cringed in anticipation - well, all of us apart from Sky, who was still half-dead on my shoulder. A strand of his drool dropped onto the polished floor.

"Scout Sergeant Jevarn, boy. You may refer to me as sergeant," said the man-mountain. He was the first marine I had seen with longer-than-stubble hair. The scraggly blonde hair nearly touched his shoulders. He abruptly turned around, saying, "Now to testing."

Jovi, all the marines seemed to have either two personalities. Psychotic, or jackass psychotic. I was going to go crazy from boredom if I stayed. I grinned at the fact that the sergeant hadn't realised Sky was absolutely intoxicated. Like Alaris, his social skills seemed to have been completely forgotten.

"Attention!" barked the sergeant. The other kids in the room immediately stopped what they were doing and assembled before the sergeant. About eight in all, I noted, and around fifteen, which was my age. A power armoured marine sauntered up next to the sergeant, radiating contempt. He glared at us beadily.

"I am Scout Sergeant Jevarn. You will refer to me as sergeant. This..." He pointed at the other marine. "Is Sergeant Condor. Henceforth you miscreants shall be known as Squad Blue. Now, you may be wondering as to why you number so few. That is because you are an experiment."

Wow, that was blunt. Sky shifted on my shoulder, groaning softly. The sergeant plowed on.

"Normally, an initiate will receive his first implants as the age of eleven. For the educated or semi-literate ones here, that means you are past the optimum age. However, the Apothecarium wishes to observe the effects of accelerated organ transplantations."

He grimaced in distaste.

"Also, the legion wishes to assess the viability of...less than indoctrinated marines in battle. That being, if you survive. Anything to add, Sergeant Condor?"

"No," came the curt reply. The power armoured sergeant stalked away, and I saw the faintest of scowls cross Sergeant Jevarn's face.

…...

"I wish to assess the psychic potential of these initiates, sergeant. Perhaps now would be a good time?" remarked a mellifluous voice. The temperature of the room seemed to plunge as we turned to the new marine. He radiated wrongness.

Psyker! Of all the abominations the galaxy has spawned, none are worse than the warp touched. I automatically made the Sayrean sign against evil; brandishing my middle finger at the psyker. The rest of the squad did similar things as well. Jovi, they were the worst. I couldn't believe the Imperium had let them live. The best solution was to burn them at a stake, and stamp on their charred ashes. That was how things were done back home.

"Suffer not the witch to live," spat Helfort vehemently. I nodded vigorously. He clenched and unclenched his fists. Sky snored on, oblivious.

The marine seemed unperturbed by our reactions. The monster must be used to it.

"Of course, brother-librarian," replied the sergeant, bowing. Oh hell, why would he bow to that monster? The demon nodded, taking out a pair of electrodes and a sinister-looking device.

"You, initiate! Come here!" The 'librarian' pointed at me. No way in hell! I frantically scrambled back, dropping Sky. He landed with a dull thump, still asleep.

"Get away from me, witch!" I yelled. "Psyker dog!"

I felt a pair of vice-like hands restrain me. "Calm yourself, boy. I won't bite," said the psyker, walking up to me. I looked back, but there was nothing there. Witchcraft! I shouted in terror, struggling against the invisible bonds.

I suddenly felt myself plunged into darkness as the cold metal of the electrodes touched my temples. Pain coursed through my entire being, arching my back involuntarily. Then...nothingness. The world came back to me, colours blurring and shifting.

"Sigma. Useless." Oh, good. I didn't know what Sigma meant, but it seemed to be good for me. The librarian strode off to Sky's inert form, squatting next to him. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"What?" rang the marine's amazed voice. "Alpha-plus? Sergeant! Sergeant, call the guards! Restrain this one, as a precaution! I shall test him again!"

What? How the hell was Sky a psyker? He seemed normally enough to me. The marine tapped his device again.

"Omega-minus now? But I do not detect anything like that..." the librarian muttered to himself, uncaring of his dumbstruck audience.

Four terminators marched in, standing with their weapons ready. An urgent _beep-beep-beep_ sounded from the instrument. Even from a distance I could be the letters: -_NON-HUMAN LIFEFORM-._

Sky was an alien now? Man, this guy was amazing. The terminators abruptly sprung into action, aiming their bolters at Sky's unconscious form.

"Brother-librarian, shall I dispose of this xeno?" asked a terminator.

"No, I had two human-positive readings beforehand. Call the apothecary, quickly now, sergeant. He will be able to ascertain the origins of this – this fellow," ordered the librarian, drawing an oversized pistol. Sergeant Jevarn ran out.

A few minutes later a white plated marine followed him in, putting on his helmet. The eye lenses clicked from red to green. Must be some sort of bio-scanner in there.

"Well, brother, is he human?" asked the librarian. The apothecary tilted his head, observing Sky.

"No," came the laconic reply. "He is drunk."

…...

The testing went along smoothly after that – well, as smoothly as it could be with a psyker around. The apothecary had pumped Sky with a a dose of caffeine and gave him a sharp warning never to get drunk again. Now Sky was wobbling next to me on the firing range with the galaxy's biggest hangover. At least he wasn't a psyker. After the beer left his system his psychic readings had flatlined. So had Helfort's, to his relief.

I peered down my firing alley, a grey tunnel lined with pockmarked metal, and a target at the end.

"Initiates, fire," commanded the Sergeant Jevarn. The other guy, Condor, was no where to be found. Apparently this one was a test to see our aiming. We had been issued autoguns and told to work out how to use them. Easy pie for me, but not for the others.

"How dost thou operate this contraption?" was Helfort's puzzled question. The sergeant ignored him.

"Hell, ah' seen these afore, but me old planet's gover'ment shot anyone who used a gun," Sky complained to me, clutching his head.

_Bang! Bang!_

Then an embarrassed silence. The two rounds that were fired clattered onto the polished floor.

Wow, only two people knew how to use guns? It was just me and another initiate. I could hear Sergeant Jevarn cursing. Sky was vainly pulling the trigger, having forgotten to load; while Helfort was busy hitting his gun in frustration. So much for mankind being a technologically advanced race. Oh Jovi, this was going to a long one.

…...

I faced Sky in the wrestling ring, glaring at him and watching for signs of an attack. He blinked, and I lunged forward yelling incoherently.

_Wham!_ I flew back in a daze. Groaning, I got up again, only to be buffeted to the ground by a flurry of blows. I snarled and blindly swept Sky's legs out from under him.

"Gotcha, Sky!" I yelled triumphantly, proceeding to finish him with a curb stomp.

"No bloody way, faggot! Ah'll get ya!" he shouted, rolling out from under my strikes.

Jovi damn! I nearly had him! This close combat test was a nightmare. I was already covered in bruises and cuts from brawling. The lights shone mercilessly down on me. And hell, Sky had fists of steel.

_Crack!_ My head snapped around, smashed by a blurred roundhouse. Swearing, I stumbled back, face smarting. Sky followed heedlessly, raining blows at me. I swung a wobbly punch at his form, only to be spun around and hit in the face again.

_Bam!_ I keeled over on the floor, utterly senseless. Well, at least I had beaten two of the other initiates before that. But they were pushovers. I think one of them had been a girl before signing up to the Luna Wolves. Sure fought like one.

Aw hell, that wasn't right. Jane had fought like a real soldier back on Sayre. My abused head was suddenly filled with images of our times together, and a great sadness rushed into me. Then the sweaty smell of Sky's body odour tugged me back to reality as he collapsed next to me.

"Eh, no 'ard feelings, yeah?" he yelled into my ear, pounding my shoulder.

I grunted in assent, too dazed to speak. I was dragged off the wrestling ring as two other initiates squared off. After a while I regained my speaking abilities and turned to Sky.

"Where the hell did ya learn how to fight like that, Sky?

"Well, if youse gonna live on them streets of Feckulia for as long as ah' 'ave, youse gotta be street smart, yeah? Bloody quick with ya fists and feet and all. Hell, ah' wasn't even a ganger or nothing, just a small time crook, but ah' had to defend meself whenever ah' got some loot. Sharin' ain't carin' back on old Fecky', oh yeah."

He grinned at me as he spoke, a smile growing as he recounted his past on his home planet. Well, at least I wasn't the only guy in the whole legion who felt homesick.

…...

Three hours later, after several punishing bouts of unarmed combat, we stood a blade-lined room with a fencing ring in the middle of it. The sergeant stood in front of a giant Imperial eagle on one of the walls. From a distance it looked like he had golden wings.

"The sword is the symbol of the Astartes Legions. It was with sword and fire that the Emperor reconquered Terra. Is it not fitting that the Emperor's Great Crusade shall be waged so? By using a sword, you are not only acknowledging your honour, but the great Emperor's honour. Now, who shall be our first victims? Initiate Helfort, your mouth seems to say you know how to use one. And Initiate Lister, I saw the captain's video."

Crap. Alaris must have done a hell of a lot of editing the recording to make me look good. Most of our fights on Sayre were spent running away from the enemy.

Filled with trepidation, I accepted the blunt wooden sword that was proffered to me. I turned to face Helfort across the ring.

"Commence, initiates!" rang the sergeant's voice. The ring fell silent as my squad watched on avidly. I noticed even Sky was showing some interest.

I raised my sword uncertainly. Never used one of these thing. The closest related weapon I had ever used was a knife. But that was at least thirty inches shorter than this wooden piece of junk. _Wake up, Lister_, I admonished myself. Helfort began to advance.

"En guarde, sir! Out of this ring thou is a friend, but inside, I know only enemies!"

I was too keyed up to bother working out what he said. I raised my sword in what I hoped was something defensive, and waited.

"Belt the faggot, Lister!" yelled Sky, cheering. The sergeant immediately yelled for order, rapping his knuckles against Sky's head.

I gripped the sword hilt harder, the grip becoming slippery with sweat. Helfort approached with lethal grace, sword held low, threatening. I swallowed nervously as my eyes flicked between his waving sword and his intent eyes.

"Yah!" I swung the sword around in a clumsy arc, aiming for nothing in particular. Helfort ducked under it with insulting ease. I swore as I swiped again.

Our sword met with a resounding _clack!_ Ow, that hurt! My hands vibrated with pain, badly jarred by the impact. My medieval buddy didn't seem fazed at all.

To hell with it! I snarled as I twirled my blade around, slashing at everything and nothing. Helfort suddenly became a dancer, sidestepping and flowing about like water. He did a final pirouette and slammed my sword away effortlessly. I yowled as my hand burned with pain.

"Well fought, friend Lister." He gave me a courtly bow as we stepped out of the ring. Was that sarcasm? I didn't think so. Helfort had started lecturing me about the sword straight after the duel.

"Thou need'st to work on thy grip. Hold the blade with _this_," he instructed, holding his sword out. I didn't see anything particularly special. "And thou must swing the blade like this..." And so on.

"Ho, ya' shoulda punched this guy," was Sky's belligerent comment. He glared at Helfort, who stared back.

"I know not what thou says, incoherent buffoon," snapped Helfort.

"Eh? Wot ya' say? Ya' speakin' Gothic there?"

I shook my head despairingly. At least they weren't trying to kill each other. The sound of them bickering rose over the soft murmurs of the rest of the squad.

"Silence! Initiates Helfort and Skylan, get up there! If your swords wag as hard as your tongues the Great Crusade would have been over already," roared the sergeant at my two shocked mates. "Now!"

They scrambled up into the ring, snatching the training swords off a sneering serf. Jovi, those guys had a problem. Perhaps we'll do some target practice on them one day.

"En guarde, fool!" was Helfort's challenge.

"Shut up, big mouth! Let's go!" came Sky's 'witty' riposte. He slashed his sword at Helfort, who dodged nimbly back.

"Thy blade is slow! Like its wielder's misbegotten mind!" Helfort taunted, and spun and sliced at Sky, who batted the blade aside frantically.

"Faggot! Stand and fight, ya' spineless fish!" He chased Helfort, waving his sword about.

"Ha! Uncultured cretin!" Their blades locked together with a ringing _smash_, their arms straining as they sought to overcome each other. Sky snarled in irritation, putting more and more effort in.

_Crack!_ Their blades broke, and Sky and Helfort lunged at each other, punching and kicking. Sky had abandoned his broken sword for his fists, while Helfort was battering at Sky with the hilt.

"Enough! If brawling is not enough, insulting the opponent is enough to disqualify the match! In a real Terran honour duel you would have been banished! Begone with you! Perhaps the master of scribes can teach you miscreants some discipline!"

Sky and Helfort backed away from each other, breathing heavily. With that, the sergeant curtly dismissed us, and strode away.

…...

"Pssst! Ah' cain't read any o' this crap, dude!" whispered Sky. He looked at me with a panic-filled gaze, left eye already swelling as a testament to how much Helfort liked him. Though to be honest, they didn't seem to hate each other _that_ much. I wasn't sure whether it was banter or hate between them. Anyone not from Sayre was hard to read. Our cultures were too different.

I shrugged helplessly, shooting a glance at the oblivious master of scribes, a portly old man with a Luna Wolf badge pinned on his breast. He was currently poring over a paper or twenty at the lectern. We were crammed into small spartan desks in front of him.

I glanced at Helfort, who was staring at the paper uncomprehendingly. He returned my stare.

"The art of words is reserved for the scholars. I know not how to decipher these runes," he hissed at me. I looked around the room. Most of my squad were scratching their heads in confusion or were sinking into varying stages of despair. I bent down to study my paper.

_===LITERACY ASSESSMENT – XVI LEGION===_

_++LEVEL ONE++_

_Harry the duck walked to the pond. Harry the duck stepped in the water. Harry thought it was cold. Harry the duck shivered. Harry saw some of his friends. That made him happy. The duck went over to his friends and played. They looked up at the stars happily, knowing that the great Emperor's Imperium ruled the stars. The aliens had been killed and exterminated. They felt safe and glad. They lived happily ever after._

_++QUESTIONS++_

_WHERE DID HARRY THE DUCK GO?_

_WHAT DID HARRY THE DUCK THINK OF THE PLACE HE STEPPED INTO?_

_WHO DID HARRY THE DUCK SEE?_

_WHAT DID HARRY THE DUCK LOOK UP AT?_

_WHO OWNS THE STARS?_

_WHAT IS THE FATE ALL FOUL XENOS?_

_WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THOSE PUTRID ALIEN SCUM? (BONUS MARKS)_

_WHAT IS THE ULTIMATE GOAL OF OUR GREAT CRUSADE AND HUMANITY ITSELF?_

_++END OF TEST++_

_**Thought for the day:**__ Suffer not the alien to live._

I shook my head and snorted. Suddenly I was glad of all the monotonous lectures back at the orphanage, the countless hours spent practising how to write. I was fairly hopeless at studies and all, but I could handle this stuff. I bent down to write my answers, forgetting everything else.

…...

"Hell, that was focking impossible!" exclaimed Sky as we filed back into the training hall. The test had been three and a half hours long. He had come out of the scribes' room after a solid three hours of sleep.

"I could not perform," muttered Helfort in my other ear. "Tis' overcame me, to my great shame."

Wow. They finally agreed on something. I guess miracles do happen. But they still didn't understand each other. I don't think that will ever happen.

"Initiates! I have assessed your performance today. And, as horrendous as it was," he glared at us each in turn. "You are not beyond redemption. Perhaps one day you will wear the Mark II plate that will make you a Luna Wolf. Perhaps. Tomorrow we begin your training. Dismissed!"

Hot damn. Today was bad enough. I really wasn't looking forward to tomorrow now.

**I hope you liked this chapter – and Helfort and Sky! I'm not sure if the community can understand them, so to all readers, please tell me what you think of their speech, or conversely, their speech impediments... Till next time, everyone! **


	16. Omake: Feckulia's Finest

**Clickaholic Anonymous: I'm trying to portray Helfort's world as a normal world that has regressed to the feudal state. I'm going to read some Shakespeare to help my medieval lexicon grow. Thanks for the advice on line breaks and scene descriptions, I amended the last chapter because of that. I'll keep that in mind next to I write. Thanks for the advice and PM!**

**Alien26: Skylan will only be an Angry Marine in spirit, I think. But thanks for the review!**

**This was some random stuff I cooked up on impulse. I always wanted to explain how our Sky ended up in the Legion, and how the other one didn't. Here it is! Alien26 and O'Shovah, this is for you guys.**

_**Feckulia – Moonshine City**_

Roy Skylan strode down the filth-lined streets; the invincible conqueror, the lord of the galaxy, the supreme ruler of the universe. To his eyes. To his eyes, girls fawned in his presence, drawn by his irresistible aura of machismo and manliness. In his eyes, looking at his reflection amounted to looking at the sun. For today, Roy Skylan was to become one of the Emperor's Astartes.

"A dollah, gud' sah?" wheedled a pox-ridden beggar. A few of the raisins the beggar had stuck to his body popped off as he extended his hands imploringly.

Roy ignored him. Roy was already an Astartes in his own mind. He resolved to leave the affairs of these puny mortals to themselves. Had he not defeated the cream of the city's elite to win his place among the Luna Wolves' ranks? Had he not scaled a two hundred metre wall with only his bare hands, spit and pure will? Had he not pleasured four women all at the same time, while fighting off a platoon of warriors? What were these mortals compared to him?

A whining snarl of frustration issued from the beggar's sore-filled mouth. Roy whirled around theatrically – or so he hoped. He wondered whether the ladies in the brothel on the side of the street felt marvellously aroused by his actions. Or whether that merchant's daughter over there found him terrifically attractive. Suddenly a clear thought cut through his vapid musings – a rare occurrence, but possible. The universe, of course, is full of miracles.

_I must get to the spaceport in time for the marshalling._

But, as with all good things, the thought vanished as his inner gorilla burst to the fore. He _needed_ the attention. Roy smiled his most cavalier smile. Unfortunately, on the semi-Neanderthal visage that his parents had abandoned him for, it came out more of a hyena's grimace.

"Well, sir, what do you want?" he said, affecting his most posh tone. He had seen some holo-vid stars do this accent.

"Ah' want some focking munnie, shitface. Gimme that!" howled the beggar. He burst in an explosion of raisins, suddenly cured of the pox. The indigent suddenly became the manic. Roy sprung back, hoping to preserve his dapper image. He spun around gracefully, tripping over the raving beggar and dealing a quick tap to the man's neck. The would-be murderer slumped on the ground.

Roy pridefully posed, shoulders back, chin up, biceps flexed. Nobody noticed. The world went on. His shoulders slumped for a moment, until he realised that today, Roy Skylan would become a mighty Astartes. The old iron duke of the cosmos. Benefactor of billions of adoring fans. Preferably all screaming teenage girls, of ages thirteen to sixteen.

Perhaps also with a five-kilometre starship shaped like his own member, he fantasised. Xenos would tremble in fear at his approach, cowed by the sheer manliness emanating from it. Girls would flock to it, bearing metre-wide placards of affection and adoration. Yes, that would be the life.

He marched dashingly to the spaceport, elbows held wide and swinging. He blew through the rusting doors, oblivious to the shouts of the security guards and attendants. None of them were teenage girls, worthy of his attention. He approached a man wearing the white tunic and wolf's head crest of the Luna Wolves Legion.

"Initiate Skylan, sir, reporting for duty," he announced, adopting his most impressive pose. He winced as his new accent came out funny.

"Skylan? He just went in three hours ago. Be off, impostor!" replied the man dismissively. "The fleet's already left for Sayre. Away with you!"

"But...but...but...There must be something..." Roy stammered frantically. He felt his world crashing down on him, pillar by pillar. Immortality, gone. His looks, gone. The five kilometre long phallus ship, gone. And most tragically, the screaming teenage girls, all gone.

The man left with an abrasive snort. Roy stumbled out, tears blinding his face. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed, and the complementary rain began to pour.

"Hey, looky ere', fellas. Some pretty boy's got hisself lost in the wet. Help him, yeah?" sneered a voice. A ganger!

"Aye, let's relieve 'im o' some weight," giggled a mad voice.

A fist smashed into his face unexpectedly, pulping his mouth. Another slammed into his gut, making him howl in pain. And finally, a boot cracked into his groin, doubling him over in spasms of pure agony. Roy lay helplessly on the ground as he was subjected to a traditional Feckulian beat-down. He would be roadkill by morning.

Suddenly, a spark of fury ignited in Roy's madly beating heart. Strength coursed through his blood, searing his muscles. Another clear thought flashed through his mind.

_HOW DARE THESE FUCKERS HIT ME?_

And so Roy rose up, shrugging off the pitiless blows of the gangers, taking uppercuts without a sound, his abused testicles suddenly made of Titan-grade void shielding, and his tiny brain clutching on to that one thought. And a fearsome sound issued from his bloodied mouth.

"FFFFFFFF-"

And so Feckulia lost three gangers to a night of unparalleled violence. They were forgotten in a day. A few measly scraps of the ganger's remains were found scattered several kilometres away, having been flung with indescribable force. It was described as Toorett's divine will.

A few minutes later, Roy stood panting heavily in the middle of a scene of carnage. A clomp of heavy boots sounded from behind him, and Roy swung about with a fist, slamming his bones into a wall of adamantium with a sickening crack. Roy swung his other hand. It was just as effective.

"I HAVE A PROPOSAL, WEASEL DICK," boomed something big. Yellow. And really fucking angry.

"FFFFFFFFFF-" was the feral response.

A yellow fist swung down, and Roy crumpled without a sound.

"FUCK IT."

And the marine hoisted the limp body of Roy like a sack of meat, and strode off to his starship.

And so, for the next millennia, random assorted xenos would fill their pants as they heard the blood-curdling warcry of the Angry One of Feckulia.

**OK, back to the real story now. Hope you enjoyed the randomness of this.**


	17. Initiate: Fun with Serfs

**O'Shovah: Thanks for the review man! Sorry about the accents, but I wanted to make colourful characters (with colourful language in some cases...) that could be recognised instantly. Hmmm, I'll have to research the hypnomat device. Oh, and good luck on your Tau-fic. May you write well, amigo!**

**Clickaholic Anonymous: Hey, I can't find those fics you recommended me, could you send me the URLs? Thanks for the review, I'm glad you found that omake funny.**

**Alien26: Thanks for that, mate. Now, we continue the story!**

**SGT. CJC: Woot, another Bon Jovi fan. And yes, Bon Jovi is a god (LOL joke). Oh, and to clear up your question regarding Lister standing up with a leg wound, adrenalin does funny things to people. I think I'll amend it a bit. Haha, I like the name Updarte. Have a good one!**

**Author's note: To everyone, I am so sorry for the slow update on this chapter. I've been really busy these few weeks, and haven't had much time to write. This story arc details the training of initiates, I know, it'll be more boring than the actual action, but to ignore or gloss over such an important stage in a marine's life would be a crime. It would be HERESY. *BLAM* Enjoy!**

"REVEILLE! The Great Crusade waits for no one! Get up, you lazy turds!" roared a voice. I swore sleepily as I was bodily pitched out of my bunk.

I rubbed my eyes blearily as I tried to discern what the shadow that was leaning over me. Jovi, it was Sergeant Jevarn! I frantically jerked myself upright, and gave the sergeant what I hoped pass for a salute. He ignored me, kicking at Sky's snoring form.

"Get up!" the sergeant continued. "Report to the firing range at 0500 hours!"

Jovi, what? Five in the morning? I blearily rubbed my eyes and checked the chrono. _0400?_ What in the seven hells were we awake at four in the morning? I stumbled over to the metal washbasin, splashing freezing water onto my face. I shuddered as the cold snapped me awake.

"Sky, you want me to get ya toothpaste and all?" I called over my shoulder. I turned around to see him sitting on the bed, in his natural state. Drinking his beers.

A rattling belch. "Nah, ah' gut me toothpaste roight 'ere," he drawled through the pungent liquor. No wonder he smelt so. He continued knocking back his poison without even so much as a stint. Jovi, his blood must be made out of ethano.

I shrugged, turning back to the washbasin, looking at the gawky kid with the prickly black hair staring back at me from the mirror. I smiled at him, and a faint but ragged scar on his cheek twisted as he smiled back at the same time. _That must have been the rocket passing over me on the truck when we first met Alaris,_ I mused. I took off my shirt, and the guy in the mirror showed me three round scars on his torso. I flexed my muscles experimentally. Gah, nothing much. Well, it was to be expected. We never had that much to eat back at the orphanage, nor with the SFL. We weren't no weaklings though. Life in the orphanage gave all of us tough, stringy muscles that could exert surprising force. Man, I did_ not_ look good. I don't know what Jane even saw in that idiot standing in the mirror.

"You are one lucky guy," I muttered to him. Then I remembered. I wasn't on Sayre any more, and I might never be able to go back. "Or the unluckiest bastard ever."

Sky's can clattered onto the ground, clanging against the carpet of cans littering the floor. I heard one last belch as he heaved himself up off the pallet.

"'Ey, whatcha starin' at?" he asked quizzically.

"Nothing, buddy, Nothing in particular," I replied, tearing myself away from the mirror. I guess you could take Lister out of Sayre, but you couldn't take the Sayre out of Lister. A wave of homesickness filled my heart.

"Dude, ah'm starvin'. Wanna git down to the mess hall ta' git some chowder inta' us? Ah think there's one down in the lower decks."

As if on cue, my stomach rumbled. I nodded.

"Hell yeah, dude. Lez' go."

…...

The ship's mess hall turned out to be the one for the legion's serfs and spacers, not the Astartes one. And Jovi, it was _massive_. The gun-metal grey roof pressed down on us, interspersed with harsh glowing lights and speakers. Twenty rows of tables stretched away for several hundreds of metres, crammed with spacers and serfs, all a-bustle eating and chattering. The smell of burnt cooking assaulted my nose, and I grinned. This was just like the old orphanage. We joined a queue that seemed a bit shorter than the others, and waited to reach the cook that was doling out his brown slop. I snorted. Knowing what the orphanage was like, it probably was effluent.

"'Ey, dude, is this chowder free?" queried Sky to a bulky spacer. He jerked as he noticed our initiate's uniforms, and touched his brow.

"Aye, sir." He walked off hurriedly. I noticed we were getting funny looks.

"Hey Sky, those squits over there are giving us the eyeball," I murmured my bunkmate. I motioned towards a large group of gangly serfs, who were busy cracking their knuckles and loudly limbering up.

"Who?" came the gormless question.

I shook my head, hoping they wouldn't come over. I really didn't want a brawl when I was still half-awake. We waited for a few more minutes, and the serfs disappeared.

A noise behind me made me whip around. I bumped into a a belligerent looking guy. His zits stuck out like neon signs, and his face was full of them. In an instant we were surrounded by serfs. I realised none were spacers, who were in the process of hastily backing away from us. _From the fight,_ I gloomily realised.

"Hey, sorry buddy, didn't see you there," I said, trying to defuse the situation. Who knows, maybe he might actually be a really nice guy who in reality wanted a hug. Gah, as if.

"No, you really didn't, didn't you?" Zitface sneered. He shoved me back, and I bounced off Sky's back. What a bastard!

"Yeah, dicks, we're gonna bust you two up," yelled another serf. I resolved to call him Turd-mouth.

A doubtful voice muttered, "You really think we can get away with it?", but was hushed up by the increasingly aggressive mob.

"Yeah!" "Let's get them!" "Get the arrogant pricks!" A cacophony of jeers and catcalls sounded as they closed in. I felt blood pounding in my ears, the now-familiar rush of adrenalin filling my body with warm. I glanced at Sky, who grinned back. Blood-lust filled his eyes.

There was one way to deal with thugs like these in the orphanage: hit them until they stop moving. Or living. Which ever one was easier.

"'Ey faggots, you'se really wanna rumble?" snarled Sky. He launched himself at the nearest serf, tackling him and pounding at the idiot's skull. A stream of his curses filled the air.

"Argghhh!" Two guys barrelled at me, fists raised. I ducked, feeling the rush of air as fists rushed over me.

"Jovi! Jovi and Sayre!" I roared, picking up an abandoned chair. _Smash!_ It went into the guy's head with a sickening crunch. Zitface appeared in front of me with a scowl. He jabbed, slamming his fist into me. I grunted in pain.

"You shit! You-" His eyes bulged as I cracked the chair into his groin. _Take that, bastard!_ Another swing obliterated his zits, as well as his face. I swung around, brandishing the battered metal chair. The remaining serfs circled cautiously.

"Who's next?" I howled manically. "Who wants some of this?"

A metre from me, Sky headbutted his opponent, turning the serf's face into a bloody mess. He dropped the unconscious idiot onto the ground, stamping on his face. Five or so inert bodies surrounded us, and a light slick of blood covered the ground. Sky rose unsteadily to his feet, a bloodthirsty gleam in his eye.

"Rush them! Go!" commanded Turd-mouth. _Crap!_ Ten serfs charged at us, confident in their numbers. I raised my chair threateningly.

"Fock youse, ya shits!" jeered Sky, swinging a thunderous roundhouse at the nearest guy. He crumpled without a sound, struck in the temple.

"Yahh!" I cried, slamming my chair into another's midriff. He doubled over with an _oof!_, and I kicked his face brutally as he threw up. Swearing, I smashed him again with the chair, clubbing at the man's skull until he keeled over.

"Get that blighter!" I yelled at Sky, pointing at Turd-mouth. Get the biggest dog and the other mongrels run! We charged at the bastard, battering through the others. Noses and arms broke as we crashed through the opposition. Turd-mouth quailed in fear, probably filling his pants with what came out of his mouth.

We piled him, punching and kicking, battering and smashing. A star of pain blossomed at the back of my neck, and I crumpled onto the ground. I heard Sky curse as he was set upon by the vengeful serfs.

_BANG. BANG-BANG!_

Everyone froze, startled by the deafening roar of a pistol fired at into the air. I felt the serfs scramble off me, giving me an innocuous jab in the gut as a parting gift. Man, I'd get them back later, the lousy bastards. Meanwhile, I'd have to wait until. A harsh commanding voice snapped over the nervous silence.

"What is the meaning of this?" the voice bawled. "Who started this?"

A sea of eyes swivelled towards us. I gulped under their intense scrutiny, massaging my aching neck. A serf piped up, pointing at us accusingly.

"They did!" he squeaked, the sod. I should've brained him with the chair instead. The rest of the serfs erupted in assent. I suddenly heard Sky growl and lunge at the serf, and I quickly dived and caught him. He strained against me for a second, and went limp. I turned towards the man, who was wearing the uniform of an armsman. He scowled at me menacingly, muscles flexing under the skin tight black jumpsuit. Jovi, I could see basically every damn contour on his body. Including the one down south. Urgh.

"Hey, they started it, mister. Don't ya keep tapes and whatnot round here?" I asked. He gave one taciturn nod, waving his underlings to arrest the culprits.

"You will come with me, initiates. Your sergeants will sort you out," he announced, striding away. He wheeled around abruptly, sticking his furious red face into mine. "And don't you ever _dare_ call me mister again. The title is Fleet Senior Armsman, whelp."

Jovi, his breath was like sewer gas, the pretentious git. I nodded, wrinkling my nose slightly. We followed him meekly out of the mess hall. I promised to myself that I would never go there again. Those serfs had a problem, and I shuddered to think of what could have happened if I was alone. We marched into the initiates' area, and the 'Fleet Senior Armsman' knocked his pretentious fist on the door. It swung open nearly immediately, Scout Sergeant Jevarn loomed over us irritably.

"Thank you armsmen, I'll take these miscreants from here." Oh hell, we were in the frying pan now. He stalked away, snapping, "Follow!"

The firing range was still deserted, with still thirty minutes left before the rest started to arrive. Jovi, fights were damn fast. It sure felt like an eternity between the swings, but really, the entire fight only lasted about a minute. I swore softly as I noticed Jevarn intently looking into a vidscreen. He tapped it, looking at us sternly.

"Your unarmed combat technique is very poor, initiate Skylan. Powerful, but very poor." We jerked in surprise, having expected some form of punishment. "You see here, you put your entire body off balance, leaving yourself open to attack. Here, you completely ignore the other opponent. There, you nearly over-balance."

The sergeant turned to me. "You, Initiate Lister, obviously have no idea of hand-to-hand combat. You only kept yourself from harm by using that chair as a bludgeon – and an ineffective one as well. Let me show you..."

He tapped the vidscreen again, rewinding the recording. He pointed at the pixellated image of me wildly slamming the chair into a serf. Hell, that must have hurt like hell. The sergeant continued didactically.

"You over-balance here, and badly. You nearly trip there. _Never_ cross your legs in a fight. A smart opponent would have simply swept your legs under. Here, by Terra! Why did you turn you back on this man?" I grimaced as my electronic avatar was clubbed in the neck with a chair. My real neck throbbed, as if in sympathy.

He tapped the screen again, obliterating the image. He grimaced at us, saying, "However, you must be commended for targeting the ringleader in such a fight, though your tactics leave much to be desired. This will be remedied, I assure you." We grinned at this, but his next statement wiped our smiles off our bruised faces almost immediately. Damn! I had hoped we'd get off scot-free.

"You will have punishment detail for the next month, after training. Skylan, you will report to the kitchens as a scullion. Go below-decks for your instructions. Lister, the Techmarine Ferros requires a new menial. Report to the Engineerium decks at the end of each day for duties. Any questions?" he rumbled, in such an aggressive tone as to discourage any questions.

As Sky groaned miserably, I put up my hand. The sergeant scowled, towering over me. I started tentatively, "Um, why have all the serfs we've met been so – ah, you know..." I trailed off, intimidated by the sergeant's irritated expression. He twisted his mouth, staring at me incredulously.

"Didn't you know, boy? They are the failed aspirants."

Hot damn. Now I knew.

…...

Now I understood why the old codger who had taken me to my quarters had acted so bitterly. Apparently the Luna Wolves Legion took any prospective aspirants on board their starships as they trawled through the galaxy reconquering it for their Emperor, so the sergeant curtly informed me. Of course, not all of them succeeded, and since they knew too much about the Legionnes Astartes to go back they were turned into serfs or servitors, depending on how badly wounded they were at the end of the trials. The bloody marines forced them to _fight_ each other with actual weapons until one won. In a way, I was just like them, chained to the Emperor's service in bonds of slavery. And I didn't even know who this Emperor fellow was, or what he was like. I still disliked those serfs, however. My neck was throbbing angrily at the time.

An hour later, I shook my head, focusing on the hefty bolter in my hands. The gleaming silver weapon seemed to weigh down on my arms, a well-oiled cannon radiating carnage and violence. A muzzle protruded out from the gun casing, riddled with holes. A muzzle-brake, I think it was called. The stubbers on our trucks had similar things. My thoughts kept flashing back to Ryain, one of my crew back on Sayre who broke his entire right shoulder from the recoil of these monsters. Despite the sergeant's announcement that they had been scaled back to scout size, I was still filled with trepidation. We now wore a rigid vest of black armour plates over our coarse white fatigues; as well as a bit of leg armour, which the sergeant had talked about in great detail. And Jovi, it was heavy. I shifted uncomfortably, trying to relieve its weight.

"Ceramic-based armour vest, heat and flame proofed. Able to withstand the impact of light to medium munitions, and deflect shrapnel. It is now your responsibility to maintain your armour, and your duty to wear it henceforth. This is your life, initiates, and..." He continued endlessly for another ten minutes, instructing us on how to clean, repair and store the armour. An entire five minutes was dedicated to the 'importance of keeping the legion insignia clean and visible', to quote him. I think Sky fell asleep, and Helfort stopped paying attention when he realised the armour wasn't a gleaming metal cuirass.

"Ha! How doth this flimsy plate guard our entrails?" he snorted to me. He tapped his new vest scornfully, waving the bolter around like a club.

"Ah, Helfort, you ever used a gun?" I asked. I think I already knew the answer.

"I? Never hath I ever beheld such a contraption," he replied. He pulled the trigger experimentally, and I jumped back. Luckily it wasn't loaded. _Click, click, click_. He pointed it at himself, peering down the barrel. I heard the sergeant groan as he noticed my medieval friend's antics.

"Initiate Helfort, keep doing that and you will end up without a head," he commented. The sergeant deftly flipped the bolter around, shoving Helfort's hands into the grip. I noticed many among the rest of the squad looking at their guns uncomprehendingly, confusion etched across their faces. They all looked like feral worlders or worse, to be honest. Well, they did seem to regard the flushing toilet in our quarters as one of the Seven Wonders of the known galaxy. The sergeant grunted in annoyance as he noticed Squad Blue's befuddlement. He snatched the bolter off Helfort, holding it up.

"This is how you hold it," he announced, fitting his right hand into the pistol grip at the back of the weapon. It seemed like a tight fit for his oversized hands. He glanced around. "Initiates, the Great Crusade is not for idiots. Stop gawking and follow my actions."

A hasty clatter sounded as we all rushed to imitate the sergeant. Jevarn went around, correcting grips and moving fingers until everyone was using the correct grip. With a satisfied nod he continued.

"Put your left hand here, in front of the slot," he barked. He placed his hand in front of a grey slot that stuck out diagonally outwards, which I guessed was the ammunition slot. It seemed like an awkward grip as I aped him; with my hands wrapped around the corner of the weapon. Sky dropped his bolter while trying to copy the sergeant, eliciting a few curses from the marine. I don't think we were a good class in his opinion.

"Now, this is the safety button," he said, flipping Helfort's weapon over, indicating a red button slightly above the grip. The sergeant pressed it with his right thumb, the button pushed through to the other side. "If it is up on the left side, the safety is on, meaning you cannot fire. A useful thing for all you blockheads. When you push it through to the right, the safety is off, so watch your fire. Use your firing thumb to push it off, and your index finger to push it on."

The sound of quiet _tap – tap – tap _of safeties being switched on and off echoed off the grey metal walls of the firing range. The sergeant pulled out a tub filled with bolter ammunition. I recognised them! They were the same clips that Alaris used, albeit a bit smaller. On impulse I wondered how he was doing. _Bet he's already forgotten me,_ I thought ruefully. The sergeant's gruff instructions crashed rudely through my thoughts.

"Load your bolter like so, with the safety on," he grunted, sliding a magazine into the ammunition slot. He flipped his weapon so the back of his palm was facing upwards while still gripping the bolter, and pointed at the thick-looking handle on the side. "The cocking handle. Pull this backwards to chamber your first round. The mechanism inside will pull the rest of the magazine's bolts through by itself after that."

He grasped the handle and pulled it back, a menacing _clank_ ringing out. Helfort's gun suddenly seemed to take on a more terrifying aspect in the sergeant's capable hands. We all took an involuntary step back. Oblivious, he led us to a firing lane and readied his weapon.

"Train your weapon at the target!" Jevarn lifted the bolter effortlessly, pointing the muzzle at the target.

"Turn off the safety!" A tiny _tap_ sounded, his thumb moving imperceptibly.

"Brace your weapon on your shoulder!" He placed the butt of the gun at his shoulder, bending his head down slightly to peer down the sights.

"Pull the trigger!" I jammed my hands over my ears, knowing how painful the noise would be.

_BOOM!_ The squad flinched as one, startled by the thunderous report, some clutching their ears in agony.

"Argh, bah' Toorett..." groaned Sky, holding his head. I pounded his back in understanding.

"Pull the trigger once and then release for single shot! Hold down the trigger for full automatic!" he said, unfazed by the noise. Jovi, these guys were crazy. He raised the bolter again, and the squad immediately stoppered their ears.

_B – B – BA – BA – BOOM!_ Even through my hands the noise still rung in my ears. Thirty metres away, the target lay shattered in a million pieces. The sergeant pointed to its ruins.

"The Mark II 'Conquest' Pattern bolter fires explosive bolts at a rate of five rounds a second. These bolts are rocket-propelled, so range is generally not an issue," he said to a sea of blank faces. He gave a dismissive snort, saying, "Never mind. Now, you whelps give it a shot."

I made my way back to the tub, snatching a clip out of it. Sky and Helfort clumsily followed suit, having never used a firearm before. I got the general idea of the bolter from using the autoguns back on Sayre. The cocking handle's action was also familiar to me, from the bolt-action rifles we had to use in the SFL. After carefully checking the safety was on, I slid the clip into the bolter, my right arm shaking from the effort of holding the massive bolter up. The magazine clicked in, and I hastily resumed my two-handed grip. Man, if this was scaled down, the real deal would be like holding a block of concrete.

"'Ow the 'ell," muttered Sky savagely, kicking at the bolter, which he had again dropped on the floor. He heaved it up again, trying to fit the ammunition clip into its slot. The bolter slid away from his hands, clattering on the floor. I stood there laughing at him, which he responded by shaking a fist at me jokingly. Though it did seem counter-intuitive for the slot to face diagonally outwards away from the firer, but I suppose the space marines were meant to brace the weapon against their body while loading.

"Why don't you brace the gun against your body?" I suggested, voicing my thoughts. He nodded, and after a few false starts managed to fit the magazine in. Helfort sneered at Sky.

"Thou is a dolt."

"Eh, what? Shut up and learn some Gothic!"

Some people never learn.

We walked over to the firing lanes, splitting off into separate ones. I cringed at the thought of even firing my bolter. The noise it made was terrific, and I didn't fancy the recoil. At the sergeant's bawled command we pushed off our safeties. We were now live. I felt as nervous as I was when I had held my first rifle back on Sayre.

"Chamber!" A cacophony of ratcheting sounds filled the empty firing range.

"Ready!" We lifted our bolters in unison, arms straining from the weight.

"Aim!" I braced my bolter against the hard plate covering my shoulder, looking down the barrel at the target. A drop of sweat dripped down from my hair. I could hear my ragged breath as I readied myself.

"Fire!" For a moment, silence. Then the lanes erupted with thunder, bolts flashing across the range. A torrent of sound assaulted my eardrums as I pulled on the trigger, the bolter bucking and smashing at my shoulder. Thank Jovi for the armour. Glowing spent casings rained out of the ejection port on the side.

Over the din I heard Sky yell, "Ohhh yeah, baby!" I glanced at him, a manic figure holding a wildly bucking gun, not bothering to aim at all. Helfort was the same, but holding the bolter out in front of him in an odd stance. Their targets weren't even scratched as their bolts flew wildly. I focused on mine, timing the deafening shots so my muzzle wasn't shaking so wildly from recoil. I swore as my ears rang and keened with pain. _BOOM – BOOM – BOOM!_ YES! My target shattered, hit by one of my shots. In celebration, I fired crazily, no longer caring.

"CEASE FIRE!" roared the sergeant over the din. The sudden silence was as deafening as bolters firing. I blinked, trying to rid my eyes of the glowing X-shaped after-image of the muzzle flash that was burned in my retinas. He strode out, inspecting the targets.

"Two out of eight," he snapped grimly, pointing at mine and another initiate's. "We have work to do. Reload and start again."

We groaned, but went back to get more clips.

…...

Eight hours of that. Eight bloody hours of firing that stupid bolter, with only two breaks for water. We now had the accursed thing strapped on our backs, with a few clips weighing down our belts. The sergeant said that all marines had to be armed at all times, the bastard. My right shoulder felt like it was on fire. We were now on the way to the physical training hall. I didn't relish the thought of it.

"Dude, shootin' guns ain't as fun as ah' thought it'd be," complained Sky, who had never once hit his target over the entire eight hours.

"It sure hurts, buddy," I replied, massaging my aching spots. I had managed to start hitting a target one every ten shots at the end of it. Once you got used to the ridiculous amount of recoil you could start to predict where your bolts would fly. Sometimes. And yes, we fired so many damn rounds that the servitor assistant tabulated our scores. Not that it mattered, really. Most of the squad couldn't even understand the numerals printed on the rolls of paper the eerie servitor had handed us.

"An exotic contraption of the foulest temperament. Methinks a sturdy blade would serve a man better," commented Helfort. Like Sky, he hadn't managed to hit the target once, though he managed to chip the target ring several times. Jovi, working out what Helfort was saying sometimes was nigh-impossible. I understood the gist of what he said though most of the time, and that was enough.

"Yeah, that too, but I dunno how to use a sword," I countered.

"Thou must learn the blade, sirrah. A smoking falchion, a bloodied sword, aye, those are arms both virtuous and fair. Forbear from descending to the cowardice of archery and of the use of this 'bolter' contraption."

"Um, yeah...I'll think about that," I muttered. Sometimes Helfort seemed a bit loopy.

We arrived at a door marked with the ubiquitous Luna Wolves insignia, with _'PHYSICAL TRAINING AREA'_ stamped boldly underneath, as well as the Imperial eagle. It was an odd symbol; the eagle having two heads, one with its eyes blindfolded and the other staring the other way. The one that had its eyes open seemed to have its eyes a-goggle in shock, probably because it just realised it had another head. I suppressed the urge to snigger at it. The punishment for disrespecting the Imperial symbol was apparently fairly severe. Not that I cared about the Emperor's junk anyhow.

I swore as the gun swung down and jammed me at the door. "Bloody hell," I growled. Helfort and Sky did something that was incredibly rare: they agreed on something. Jovi damn, they were sniggering and prodding me in the back. I flushed hard and swung the bolter back up, storming through the doorway.

"Put up your arms in the corner and remember which one is which," grunted a white armoured marine, his back turned on us. The training hall was a bare concrete square, devoid of any decorations save a black Imperial eagle stencilled on the far wall. The rest of Squad Blue were already running in circles around it, their harsh breathing bouncing off the meal walls. A harsh row of lights glared down on us as we ditched our guns, groaning in relief as the dead weight came off our backs. I massaged my neck - and bloody hell, why did injuries hurt worse over time? I couldn't move my neck to the right. Hell, I was so screwed for this jaunt.

The marine turned around to give us the eyeball. "Well? Get to it!" snapped Sergeant Condor. We ran onto the concrete square and joined the circle of initiates running around it.

Again.

And again.

And again.

And again...

And again...Wait! I could never have run this far back on Sayre.

And again...

My breath came out in rapped gasps. Jovi damn this armour to hell! It weighed down on me, especially on my neck, which was throbbing like crazy. I was running half-hunched, trying to avoid the knife of agony that stabbed into me every time my neck was jarred.

"Argh!" I cried as I mis-stepped. My face slammed into the concrete floor, skidding painfully across it. I heard Helfort curse softly as he hooked his arms underneath my armpits and heaved.

"Get up, you lazy grox! Move it!" roared Sergeant Condor. I shook Helfort's arms off me and unsteadily lurched into a run, pounding his back in thanks.

"Come, friend Lister, the end – surely is nigh!" gasped Helfort between ragged breaths.

"It – better – bloody – be," I breathlessly replied. Ahead, I could hear Sky swearing and he pounded along.

"Move you pigs! Faster – faster! Did they send us daughters when we asked for sons?" Condor's voice boomed out across the bare square. Jane would've slapped him for that, surely. I could just imagine her face if she heard. A spurt of energy spurred me on as I thought of her and home.

And so we ran and ran, endlessly around the square. I began to sink into a rhythm, something to ease the aches and pains of sprinting ceaselessly. I began to hear the steady beat of my pulse in my ears, its sound drowning out the scuffles and scrapes of the squad running around. _Ba – ba – ba – boom. Ba – ba – ba – boom. _Slowly, I realised that the beat I was hearing wasn't like any I'd heard before. What in Jovi's name? I pressed my index finger against the side of neck, feeling for something called an 'artery'. I heard you could feel your pulse there.

Oh hell! It was really four beats. Was this the secondary heart that the apothecary fellow mentioned? And the one which the captain got destroyed? Maybe that was why I was running as far as I had. A torrent of revulsion coursed through me as I thought of what it really meant. Something was _implanted _in me. Something foreign, something not me. It was foul. Sick. I felt the urge to tear out whatever had been stuck inside of me, but that wouldn't have been good for my health, would it?

On and on, on and on, we wore the heels of our boots away on that Jovi-forsaken square of concrete.

…...

"Maybe 'e'll forget," suggested Sky, rubbing his shuddering legs in a vain attempt to make them feel better. Even an hour after we had finally been curtly dismissed by Condor, our legs were still rubber. That had been four hours of hard running. Four damn hours! I'd never run for that long in my entire life.

"Yeah I hope so, buddy," I replied wearily. All I wanted to do now was to go to sleep on the bunks we were on.

"It pains me to be the bearer of your woes, save his," said Helfort, shooting an annoyed glance at Sky. "But the good sergeant comes hither."

Ah, hell. Sergeant Jevarn clomped into the room, his head brushing the ceiling.

"Up! Your castigation starts tonight!" he announced. I think he was enjoying this.

We slid off the bunks, gathering up our belts and bolters, following the sergeant out.

"See ya, Helfort," I called back to him.

"Fare well, friend!"

_Yes, hopefully I would fare well down in the Engineerium place_. It sounded fairly grim, but everything Terran seemed like that, I had noticed. The entire ship was festooned with high vaulting arches, brassy skulls and golden wings. Even the Terran accent, which most people in this ship had, forever sounded stiffly formal and portentous. I wondered whether the people Earth or Terra had always sounded like they had a stick up their asses.

"Initiate Lister, the Engineerium can be reached via the cargo lift over there on the right. Initiate Skylan, the scullery is directly underneath us. Take those stairs down. Suffer your punishments gladly, and reflect upon your transgressions."

With that cheery remark the sergeant strode off to whatever errand he had next. _Like hell am I going to do that,_ I thought.

"Hey, you wanna not go?" I quietly suggested to Sky.

"Sounds like a gud plan, dude," he said, smiling cheekily.

A clank made us whirl around, and the sergeant's voice rang out. "Get going, you runts!"

How in the stars did he hear us?

"Lez' not go anyway," he whispered, in the quietest voice I had ever heard him use.

"Move it, you whelps!" roared the sergeant's distant voice. _Dammit!_

We scurried off to our designated punishments with a hurried 'goodbye'. I stepped into the cramped cargo lift, which was already filled with red-robed folks and their accompanying servitors. I immediately inched away from the empty servitors, their extra claw-like appendages waving blindly. The lift suddenly jerked down with a sudden thump, and I bumped into a red fellow with a hood.

Holy hell!

I jerked back as its face loomed out from the hood's shade. Yes, it. I couldn't tell whether this guy was man, woman, or something in-between. Or human, on that note. A trio of glowing green dots focused on me, and I could feel the targeting beams fix on my forehead. The 'mouth' clacked and whirred, the chittering steel claws and pincer moving to the sides as it cleared a hole for itself. A black maw gaped down at me, the whiff of machine oil gusting into my face.

"My new servitor?" squawked the thing. It prodded me in the chest.

"Concurrence negative. It is my new servitor," babbled a static-ridden voice.

"Negative. I requested a new sanitary servitor," keened another.

By Jovi, I was in silicon hell! Another red-robe announced its presence.

"Leave the normal alone. Query: are you a servitor-to-be, or another anomalous assignment?" it asked. Its deadpan tone conveyed no emotion, and it took me several seconds to realise it had asked me a question. The thing was noticeably taller than the others, who bowed deferentially to it. A trio of thick metal tentacles erupted out of its back, pincers snapping.

"Um, I'm an initiate, sir," I stammered. As I spoke one of them unscrewed the top of its head with a gooey _pop_, and a thin tentacle plunged in with a squelch and rummaged about. It pulled out a rusty piece of metal after a few moments, and I fought down nausea as it flicked the thick reddish fluid off it.

"A screw was loose," it explained, its tentacle spinning the top of its skull back on.

"Bless the Omnissiah for his gift," intoned the machine-men. By Jovi, couldn't the lift go any faster? I wanted to scram as soon as possible. The tall red-robe turned back to me.

"An initiate? A more precise designation is necessary. Query: are you a techmarine-in-training?"

I shook my head. The tall one stared back at me blankly. I got the impression he didn't understand.

"Nope, I'm on punishment detail," I said after a few awkward seconds.

"Understood," it replied stiffly. "A shame. You would have made a good sanitary servitor."

"Concurrence."

"Concurrence."

A hubbub of electronic voices created a din of agreement. The tall one turned back to me, obviously in a conversational mood.

"Query: do you know of the glories of the Omnissiah?"

The _what?_ The thing's tentacles waved about in an oddly menacing fashion. I decided to agree with him.

"Uh, yeah."

"Understood. Glory to the Omnissiah. Query: which planet do you originate from?"

I had to pause as the other red-robes chanted their praises to their 'Omnissiah'. When it finally died down I spoke up.

"I'm from Sayre."

A ripple of shock passed through the red-robes, their assorted metal tentacles, claws and pincers waving about frantically.

"Initiate, tell us about the convenient length of them!"

"The great tensile strength!"

"Concurrence! The ergonomic four-point design!"

"Imagine the genius of the head-hilt balancing ratio!"

"To think that now we possess the full set!"

"The holy significance of it!"

"To think they had such a marvellous technological wonder!"

I waved my hands to quell them as they pressed in on me.

"Wait, what is this? What are you talking about?" I asked between a gap in their electronic blather.

A reverential hush fell over the group. The red-robes parted as the tall one strode towards me.

"The holy Standard Template Construct...for the fork."

…...

Pistons and gears hissed and clanked overhead as I nervously made my way through the cavernous Engineerium. My head felt like it had been wrung dry, drained by the interrogation of the so-called 'techpriests' over my use of cutlery and eating habits back home. They seemed disappointed when I informed them the orphanage couldn't afford cutlery and we ate with our hands. I yelped as I stubbed a toe on a block of steel. _Couldn't they get some lights_, I muttered gloomily to myself.

A small oasis of light lit up a marine welding a piece of metal onto a tank. The Astartes was mostly coloured in red this time, with only the shoulder pads being the Luna Wolves white. He turned to regard me neutrally as I tentatively approached. Well, I couldn't know what he was thinking with a helmet on his head.

"Sergeant Jevarn's boy?" he said.

"Yes, sir," I replied.

He threw me a large bag of bolt pistols, which I caught with a muffled _oomph_. With some effort I dragged it to an empty work table.

"Clean."

I raised my hand. "Um, sir, with what?"

A rusty toothbrush with metal brushes hit me in the face. "Clean," said the techmarine. What a jackass.

Groaning, I lifted the first bolt pistol out and started to work on it.

**I hope you enjoyed this one. I'll be updating slowly these few months as exams come up, but once they're done, I'll have nothing to do but write. Laters, everyone!**


	18. Initiate: The Imperial Truth

**SGT CJC: Ha, I didn't realise the Mulan reference until you mentioned it to me. And yes, Lister would be a great sanitary servitor. Maybe I should have made that his occupantion. Jokes. Thanks for the comments!**

**Clickaholic Anonymous: Hey that Imperial Fists story to sent me was AWESOME. I loved the plot twists. I read the others in the site, but they weren't as good as that masterpiece. Are there any more you could recommend me? I really enjoyed it.**

**Thumper1020: Thanks for the add, mate. I'm not sure about a rival, maybe afterwards, since Lister has enough troubles already. Till next time!**

**To the people who added my story to favourites: There's starting to get too many of you (which I really REALLY appreciate) so this is a big group thanks to everyone. Feel free to critique, I feel that I need constructive feedback. **

"Hey."

I whipped around, a startled grox to that achingly familiar voice.

"Jane?"

A whisper passed me. A breath of cold air frosted over my skin.

I jerked back as I came face-to-face with her.

"Lister..."

My hands reached out beseechingly to her fading form. Behind her was dusty Sayre, that dry country, those lost highways and trackless wastes. Home. The only thing I wanted was to go home.

"Jane, wait!" I cried, struggling through the sludge of my slumbering delirium.

"You gotta go..." her wraith whispered sorrowfully. The vision evaporated, replaced with the terrifying black void.

I fell.

…...

"Hurk!" I gasped, suddenly awakening. The coarse sheets of my bunk were soaked in cold sweat tangled around in me in a fitful embrace. Steel walls, the Imperial eagle on the wall. Still with the space marines. I hung my head in a despondent – but useless gesture. For a moment I thought I was really back on Sayre.

_'=0333='_ read the chrono bolted to the wall.

I shook my head. I was getting _used_ to this! It had been two weeks since my first day. Day in day out of firing those bolters, running our hearts out around that concrete square, lifting Jovi-only-knows how many tonnes of weights, then cleaning weapons down in the gloomy Engineerium. Then I wearily crawled into my scratchy bunk at midnight for a measly four hours or so of sleep. Well – what passed for midnight on the chrono. Since I was on massive starship there was no such thing really, just what the chrono said. My heart was a simmering melting pot of resentment and exhaustion. Jovi damn the Astartes to hell!

_Hnnnnrrrrkkkkk. Hnnrrrrrrrrk. Fnnnrrrrrrrrrrkkkkkk._

Across the smelly room Sky slept on like a pig. I had discovered he snored in his sleep on the first night. _Loudly_. It had kept me up for a few nights before I had chucked a pillow on top of his gaping mouth in frustration, finally muffling the sound. For a few seconds.

_FFFFNNNNRRRKKK. HNNNRRRRKKK._

Yeah, he just snored louder, like he was doing now. Jovi, it sounded as good as cats mating. You know the ones that scream and wail as they go about their business? But who knows, Sky could actually be a cat. He was already suspected to be an alien and a psyker, so why not a feline?

I lifted up my mattress, checking the underside for the small cavity I had gouged out to put my stuff into. Jane's belt and pistol – check. Jovi's medallion – check. And Jane's letter...check. On impulse I carefully unfolded it, eyes scanning over the already-memorised words. I read her letter every morning as some sort of good luck charm, just like someone would drink hot caf when they woke up. It felt good to know that at least someone in this cold galaxy cared about you, and thought about you. Then I gingerly re-folded it. The frayed letter was already starting to come apart at the fold lines, so I tucked it into one of the pouches of the belt with the utmost care. My meagre possessions went back into the hole in the mattress, invisible from casual inspection.

"Ho, what youse doin'?" called Sky's sleepy voice. Crap!

_Wait, he's my friend. I can trust him._

"Hey, Sky – you ever – you know, think about home?" I asked tentatively. He scratched his head absently.

"Naw, dun miss that dump."

"Well, uh, was there anyone – how I say this, um – special?" I said. Maybe Skylan was the wrong person to go to for for conversation. Unless it was on how to get drunk.

A belch as he finished his morning beer. "Well, ah' did get into some flirty hoity-toity wid' some dames, ah' remember. But naw', no one fer me."

"Hey Sky, I'm gonna show you something secret, so you don't tell no one, yeah?" I lifted the mattress, groping for my belongings.

"Aye, dude, racketeer's 'onour," he replied with a sleepy grin, thumping his chest.

I lifted the mattress and showed him Jane's belt and pistol, opening the pouches so he could see the contents.

"That's the gun I shot the bastard with that shot me and landed me here," I babbled, memories rushing back. "The belt belonged to my..."

Good friend? Best friend? Girlfriend? I think she would've been if I hadn't gotten myself busted up. An odd thought sprung up. Hell, I might have _married_ her eventually. Back on Sayre I would have cringed at the notion, but light years away from home I clutched at at any shreds of that lost normality.

"Old girlfriend," I said firmly, gushing on. "Look 'ere, that's the letter she wrote me as a goodbye. All busted I was, three shots to the chest, and Jovi-knows how many broken ribs."

I waved the letter in his uncomprehending face. "Oh, hang on – you can't read. Sorry, buddy. Um, here's the medallion the high priest gave me."

He fingered the golden medallion reverently. I burrowed into the rest of the pouches, ferreting for any other things I might not have found. I pulled out a wheel of bullets buried at the bottom. Man, I never saw that before. Six gleaming brass rounds were embedded into the hexagonal steel ring, ready to be chambered into Jane's pistol. Or I guess I should call it a revolver. Whatever.

"Ya' 'ad a gurl? A real gurl?" he asked, handing the medallion back. I tucked it back into a pouch.

"Yeah, her name was Jane. Man, she was damn pretty," I reminisced. Just talking about her sent a warm tingle down my spine. "Hell, I didn't realise she was that nice, but you know, girls seem to grow on you. I had to get to know her before she seemed good looking. Guess it's the heart that really makes the person."

He seemed to look at me in a new light. "Dude, ne'er did git a proper dame. Ya ever...go the full distance?" His voice took on a amused, semi-mocking tone. I guessed what he meant almost immediately.

"Ah, yeah," I muttered, mortified. Jovi, the memory of that night was seared indelibly in my mind. I never forgot a detail of it, not for one moment. I never would.

"Aw hell! Then ya' kin' 'elp me laters on! Aye, dude, yer kin' help snag the dames!" he crowed joyfully, punching me on the shoulder. I felt a pang of irritation at Sky. Maybe I shouldn't have told him. His lecherous reactions seemed to cheapen my memory of that night.

"We'll see..." I snorted.

"You an' me, yeah? We'll go an' pop-ya-late that galaxy with all them dames," he sniggered. I grinned at the prospect.

I cracked open the gun, sliding the bullet wheel in, and flipped the barrel back on straight with a click. Sky watched in confusion as I looked down the sights. A good gun, Jane's revolver was. It had killed Grevan in a single shot. I hoped they had burned that bastard's body and stamped on his ashes. That dog deserved to be treated like one of those psyker scum.

I rubbed off a dark patch near the muzzle. With a sense of satisfaction I realised it was Grevan's blood. Ha! Good riddance!

I cracked open the gun again, popping the wheel out and sliding it back into the pouch. Never know when a gun might go off, and I didn't want to be the one who tested it. Sky flipped the medallion back to me, which I hastily snatched out of the air, tucking it back in. I re-holstered the pistol, and crammed the whole belt back into the small hole in the mattress. The sergeant's stentorian barking echoed loudly from outside.

"Another bloody day..." whined Sky. Bloody hell. That just summed up my thoughts.

…...

We assembled in a dimly lit room with several duelling pits in it. Wall-high murals of space marines doing battle surrounded us, and the heavy musk of sweat and aggression permeated the room. Sergeants Jevarn and Condor stood on the podium, surveying us from afar with a critical eye. Condor crossed his arms irritably as Jevarn said something to him.

"Initiates, attention! Today we will begin close-combat drills!" boomed Jevarn.

"Excellent!" hissed Helfort excitedly next to me. I guess he had to be, since his shooting was such a disappointment. I gulped as I remembered his incredible prowess with the sword. I turned around to see Sky pumping his arms jubilantly. The rest of the squad seemed to also be gripped in happy celebration. They were all feral worlders, dammit! I had spoken – well, tried to at least – to some of them. Most of them had never heard of trucks or tanks or guns. Or electricity, for that matter. Only one guy among them, Sernax, had come from a civilised world like me; and was also the only other one in Squad Blue who could shoot. Feckulia didn't count as a civilised world.

You could hear the cussing from orbit, it was said.

"I will take Skylan, Lister, Helfort and Sernax in that ring," instructed Jevarn, pointing at a dusty ring.

"Argeh, Harog, Mogas, Yumec, that ring," was Condor's curt command.

We scrambled to the designated ring. The sergeants gave harsh punishments to any slackers. The soreness of my arms was a testament to the countless push-ups I had to endure for my constant tardiness. Bastards. I had to do two-hundred in one sitting, with the _bolter_ strapped across my back. It probably added at least twenty kilograms to me. Jovi damn!

"Gather around, initiates," said Jevarn. He had stripped down to a tight black singlet, exposing an incredible musculature that rippled powerfully as he moved. I noticed a Luna Wolves symbol printed on the front. Hell, the marines even put that on their _underwear_? Jovi, which lunatic asylum had I stumbled into?

"Some of you may be asking what close combat is for. For the unenlightened, many xeno races are exceedingly fond of close combat. Here are some weapons I...ah, temporarily liberated from the Engineerium that the xeno species are fond of," Jevarn said.

He pulled out from a sack a massive crude axe, really just a sharp hunk of metal rudely bolted onto a metal pole. Even from a metre away it reeked of blood. Human blood.

"The ork 'choppa'. Perhaps one of the most feared and common weapons of destruction in the galaxy," sneered the sergeant. "Until we arrived. But beware! One swing of this at the right place, and you may soon be missing an arm, power armour or not!"

He dropped the axe contemptuously, rummaging through the sack. He held up a graceful curving sword, its razor edge glittering in the dim light. Shining runes were carved beautifully into its side, glowing faintly.

"The weapon of one of the warrior castes of the Eldar," observed the sergeant. "This one, I took off one of their females after I killed her. The techmarines wanted to look at it."

A shocked murmur went through the four of us. How could he kill a woman? Back on Sayre a man fighting a woman was regarded as unseemly. Women belonged in the house, it was said. I guess not in the Imperium.

The sergeant looked at us disdainfully, pressing an odd rune on the sword. It hummed to life, a shimmering field cocooning the blade. He passed the blade effortlessly through the hard packed dirt.

"Some of you seem to live under the preconception that females are fragile ornaments, something not to be harmed. Think again, initiates. This caste, I think the xeno scum call them banshees, are one of the biggest causes of casualties in engagements with this species. Do _not_ underestimate women. Even our ones. Some of them are the finest warriors humanity has ever offered."

He de-activated the sword, plunging it tip-first into the dirt. He pulled something out of the sack, drawing gasps of shock and loathing among us. I gaped at the object. All oily black it was, a chitinous claw with several lethally sharp points.

"One of the more abominable breeds that lurk the stars. Designated Sentient Species XH6, more commonly known as the Gigascorpios. One swipe of this goes straight through tank armour. The 2nd Expedition Fleet – us, that is, encountered these xenoforms a few systems back. We did the galaxy a favour and drove them to a bloody extinction."

He grinned at this. "Now back to business. Now that you know that most species have a peculiar fixation on close assault, let us begin training. Skylan! Stop touching them, I am bringing them back to the Engineerium to be destroyed."

He crammed the weapons back into the sack, pulling them from a curious Sky.

"Now we begin..."

…...

Six hours later, we collapsed on hard seats in a bright auditorium. I didn't see most of what we did to have anything to do with close combat. Shuffling sideways, endless squats, push-ups, sit-ups. Then gruelling bridges, where we had hold a push-up in the 'up' position indefinitely, with our lead-heavy bolters strapped to our backs. Then punching each other's forearms as hard as we could. My arms were a mass of throbbing bruises, and all my muscles ached with a furious abandon. I wanted nothing but to go to sleep, but I still had to endure some speech by a 'chaplain' of the Luna Wolves', then the rusty purgatory of the Engineerium.

_Clomp, clomp, clomp_. Heads turned as a black armoured marine strode onto the stage. He cut a striking figure, bedecked in grim black armour, one pauldron the shape of a white gleaming skull. His helmet was also crafted to resemble a naked skull, the eyes sockets agleam with demonic crimson. The only thing that connected him with the legion was his left pauldron which sported the wolf's head insignia.

He mounted the podium and surveyed us each in turn. I felt his burning gaze pass over me, and shuddered as though he had read all my secrets in a passing glance. Even Sky had gone quiet next to me, and Helfort shuddered silently.

"If there ever was a daemon..." he whispered.

A loud _hiss_ rang across the silent squad as the marine disengaged his morbid visor. A scarred countenance greeted us, just as grim as the mask that he had clipped to his belt; mountainous scars criss-crossing the rugged face. A hush fell over the eight of us.

"I am Chaplain Pynaeum, Prime Iterator of our Legion, and Master of Castigations."

Not one sound. We watched in fear as the dread figure leaned over the lectern.

"Today, I shall enlighten you to the light of the Imperial truth. Today, you shall cast off the twin yokes of tyranny and oppression. Today, my good fellows, you shall see the fallacies of this vile perfidy, this pathetic fabrication of weak fools – _religion_."

He spat the word with such vehemence we jerked back as if he had struck a stunning blow. His hatred of the concept was palpable as he continued. He strode off the lectern and paced the stage, some device in his suit instead projecting his powerful voice across the near-empty auditorium.

"You, initiate! Who did you worship?" his voice was a thundercrack as he transfixed Yumec with his mortifying gaze.

"The World-mother, my – my lord," he stammered back.

"Ha! How many countless sacrifices did you waste on that fictional deity? All those works of art, all that precious food, I suppose?"

"But – but..."

"But _what?_" his voice seethed with fury. "But nothing came of it? Countless brothers I have seen, telling me of droughts and famines in this very room, despite their fruitless sacrifices to their 'god'. A fallacy! They would have served themselves better by just eating! Am I right, initiate?"

"Yes – yes, sir."

"Only the power of knowledge and science is all! What use is praying to some useless deity for her to bear food when a mere pass of a flier can seed a hundred fields with wheat? Can your 'god' take you to the stars? Too long, my fellows, has humanity laboured underneath false idols! Too long, muttering into the empty air for their 'great-father' or some other work of fiction to come rescue them! You! You are an orphan, yes?"

He pointed at Sernax. "Yes, my lord."

"Where was your god when your parents died? Eh? If that god was real and omnipotent, where was he?"

"He must have made that as a test," was Sernax's weak reply.

"Lies! Lies and fabrications!" roared the chaplain. "Witness the stupidity of religion at its fullest! A test of faith, they all say! When a plague descends on them, they crow 'This is a test!' as they drown in their own blood! When the xenos come to feast, they say this is a test! Ha! What does that say about their god? That their deity had created that misbegotten race! What sort of god of men does that?"

The hall was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Already I could see several among the squad nodding to the chaplain's potently cogent rhetoric. He continued.

"Initiate! Who did you serve?" he boomed, pointing at Helfort. He quailed momentarily, then rallied.

"The people of Hibernia know no god," he said quietly. "Our first leader, Hibern, deemed the gods and false and treacherous after the great Psyker War."

The chaplain nodded in enthusiastic agreement. "Which brings me to my next point! What sort of 'god' would bring those foul warp-touched freaks into this universe?"

That was a hard point to argue, make no mistake. But Jovi had showed us a way, through his ancient messages of rock'n'roll. Never give up, even in hard times, so he had said in his most famous battle dirge: _Livin' on a Prayer_. Even when the psykers had closed in and hope faded, the people of Sayre had sung his songs as they did battle against witchcraft and black sorcery, and triumphed through their faith.

"Initiate, who did you worship on your homeworld?" The fanatic was looking straight at me.

"Bon Jovi," I growled challengingly, deliberately omitting the 'my lord'. Who was he to insult the God of rock'n'roll?

"So.. a fanatic," he sneered. Ironic. That's what I thought him as. "So...give me the reasons why you think this 'Bon Jovi' is a god."

That was easy. "He led us to victory against the psykers during the Dark Age through his inspiring songs. He guides us to victory in battle. Hell, if you ever heard his songs, you'd know he was god."

The marine laughed, bellowing his derision to the galaxy. I felt my blood boil as I watched the sacrilegious idiot mock Jovi.

"So, is that it? He sung some little poems, and you worship him? What is there to worship?" he hissed vehemently. I stared right back into his manic eyes. No way in hell was he going to convert me to his 'Imperial truth'. Bring it on!

"He ain't there to give us food or split oceans for us. Jovi's just there. He moulds us from the firmament with his holy 'lectric guitar, and our lives are our own. He only gives clues when he's needed, or gives us just that bit of strength when we're in strife," I said.

"Pfft! That is called intuition and adrenalin! Elementary science! What idiocy is your religion! The firing of neurons and the effects of hormones, that is all. Even the lowest techpriest can tell you so!"

That self-righteous bastard. What a little world he lived in, thinking that all the good things in life were the result of a bunch of chemicals. I once had seen a scientist lynched on the streets, attacked by an enraged mob for suggesting that love was simply the product of chemicals called 'endorphins' and such. Served him right. There were some things in the universe that transcended mortal comprehension, and love and Jovi's lyrics were among them.

"I don't think so," I announced defiantly. The marine's eyes narrowed fiercely.

"Boy, you had better watch your mouth. Ten thousand years from now, and religious fanatics like you will be extinct. You're a dying race, whelp. Best to join the winning side of rationality," he growled belligerently. I felt Helfort nudge me slightly in warning, but I ignored him in my anger.

"As long as one person remembers Bon Jovi, he will live ever on," I intoned, repeating an old adage passed down from the desperate days of the Dark Age of the psykers.

"We'll see about that," he snarled, looming over me. "Renounce your foolishness now. I will not ask again."

His words barely reached my ears, the arrogant dogma drowned out by the glorious sound of Jovi's voice.

"..._OOOOOOOH WE GOTTA HOLD ON, READY OR NOT_

_YOU LIVE FOR THE FIGHT WHEN IT'S ALL THAT YOU'VE GOT!"_

Jovi's undying words rang in head, filling me with steely resolve. I stood tall, dwarfed by the gargantuan marine in size, but towering far above him in my faith. I opened my fool mouth to speak.

"No."

_CRACK!_ My head snapped sideways, smashed with incredible force by the marine's ceramite glove. The left side of my face was afire with agony.

"Turn – the – other – one," I spat defiantly, offering him my other cheek. Bon Jovi would punish this bastard in hell eventually, I was sure of it.

"Repent! Repent, or prolong your suffering!" howled the chaplain.

"Bon Jovi – is – all," I replied, oblivious to Helfort and Sky tugging at my sleeves. I could hear Skylan softly cursing as I continued to ignore him.

_CRACK!_ Argh! Jovi, that hurt! I yelled as the pain suddenly hit me. I think my right cheekbone was broken!

"Take this one to the Castigatum. I will be down there shortly," snarled the marine derisively. "We shall see where his misplaced faith takes him."

I felt rough hands manhandle me, and Helfort and Sky's raised voices, and then the pain washed over everything.

Black. Oblivion.

…...

"Unnrrrgghhhh..." I groaned. My body trickled with water and blood. I was kneeling painfully on the floor, arms outstretched and tied to hoops in the cell's wall. I raised my bleary eyes to see a jail guard with a dripping pail that had been recently emptied on my abused body.

"My lord, the deviant is conscious," came a metallic voice. I looked closer, and noticed the guard had his throat replaced with a cruel metal box. What sort of place was this Imperium?

A black shadow leaned over me. The chaplain. The skull mask leered down at me, evil intent clear on its petrified ghoulish features. I bared my teeth as I strained at my bonds in vain resistance.

"Well, initiate. Where is your 'Bon Jovi' now?"

"Up – yours."

"Guard, twenty strokes," announced the marine. The looming presence backed off a little. The guard pulled out a rod with many jangling ends, its merry tinkling a macabre sound in that grim torture cell. Holy hell... It was made of small chains, and on the end of each was a cruel metal barb. I tensed my back in horrified anticipation.

_Hiss...CRACK!_ I gritted my teeth in pure agony as my back was slowly flayed apart. Low animal moans escaped from between my clenched teeth; the only testament to the pain I was feeling.

"Where is Bon Jovi now?" asked the marine. _Hiss...CRACK!_

"Ungh..." was my only reply.

_Jane, Jane, Jane, Bon Jovi, Bon Jovi,_ I muttered to myself, a mantra to ward against the impending torture.

_Hiss...CRACK!_ This time I managed to muffle my sounds a little, the images of home flashing through my eyes.

_Hiss...CRACK!_ No sound this time. No satisfaction for my torturer. I grinned a dead man's grin, teeth bared in a rictus of hatred.

_Hiss...CRACK!_ Sweat dripped down my hair, pooling in a blood-flecked puddle at my scuffed knees.

_Hisss...CRACK!_ My jaw ached, sore from the intense gritting. I concentrated on that pain, not the blooming inferno that my back was becoming.

Finally, the last stroke finished, and I collapsed as far in my bonds as I could in relief. I panted heavily, the salty sweat caustic vitriol in my raw wounds.

A heavy hand clamped down on my neck, grating the fragile bones inside. The bastard chaplain could snap my neck at any moment. A grinning skull filled the side of my vision.

"Do you, initiate, renounce your faith? Renounce them now, boy, or join your false gods on the ash heap of history!"

Jovi, I didn't want to die... Ha! I'd lie!

"I renounce him..." I whispered, mustering as much false sincerity as possible. Inside, my faith in Jovi burned with new fervour.

"Excellent. Untie him, guard. He has achieved enlightenment. Do you accept the one true power of science?"

I already did beforehand, but yeah. "Yes."

"Yes what?" snarled the arrogant martinet. The gullible fool.

"Yes...sir."

"Good. May your wounds pain you for a long time, lest you forget your transgressions. Go."

I stumbled out of the Castigatum, red streaks of blood soaking through my white shirt and down out of the back of my armour.

…...

Helfort and Sky stared in shock as I staggered into the initiates' quarters, dogged by a trail of dripping blood that had followed me all the way from the Castigatum to here.

"Holy Toorett...those sado' shits!" he exclaimed, which brought a smile to my face. Obviously Sky hadn't given a damn about the chaplain's teachings. Good on him. They wrenched my armour off, carelessly tossing the blood-stained armour vest to one side.

"Thy back is a haunch of flayed meat," reported Helfort grimly. "It would serve thou is thou was more circumspect."

"Aye...thanks, Helfort," I managed to gasp out sarcastically between waves of pain. It had gotten progressively worse as I walked through the ship.

"I feel for you, friend Lister. I truly am penitent for mentioning those witches to him. Mayhap one day thou shall take your vengeance on that villain. I would not mourn for that beast."

I smiled thinly at the thought. A bang announced Jevarn's crashing entrance into our quarters.

"To your – castigations!" he announced, pausing slightly when he saw my flayed back. I snorted. Compared to that whipping, work in the Engineerium would be a breeze. We followed the sergeant out, me stumbling and limping; half supported by Helfort, while Sky looked back concernedly while carrying my shirt and armour.

"Initiate Skylan, leave us. Helfort, away. Lister, stay a moment," snapped Jevarn angrily. His voice brooked no argument. Sky dropped my things in a heap in front of me.

They hurried away, shooting worried looks back at me. I cursed inwardly as Jevarn examined my bloodstained shirt and armour. He prodded the pile with a booted toe.

"Well? Put it on!" he commanded. I shucked on my bloodied apparel as quickly as I could, snarling at the pain.

"Sergeant, I..." I began. He put up a hand to stop me.

"I already know. Suffice to say that you are the consummate fool. But a loyal and stubborn one, it appears. If you can be turned to the Imperium's service, you will make a good warrior. Do _not_ mock the Imperial truth and the Emperor's decrees. The usual penalty for a non-Astartes is death. Dismissed!"

_Well, thanks for nothing_, I thought bitterly, shambling away.

"Initiate!" called the sergeant. "Catch!"

I painfully turned around. He tossed me a white tube. I read it. Antiseptic. I threw an agonising salute to him in thanks, but he had already disappeared. Perhaps the Astartes wasn't filled all with jerks after all.

I barely remember the rest of that day. But the highlight of the day was when the techmarine finally said something new to me, other than the taciturn command of 'clean'.

"Do not get your lubricants on the pistols," he had warned, referring to my red dripping shirt.

**I hope to liked that scene (though Lister certainly didn't). Yes, there were pre-Heresy chaplains, just that they preached atheism and the Imperial truth instead of the Imperial creed. Irony, anyone? Laters!**


	19. Initiate: Another Day

**Thumper1020: Yeah, sometimes I get into the writing groove, sometimes I just can't. I've read Rouge Psyker's Toyhammer, it's a brilliant fic, and highly enjoyable to boot. Thanks for reading!**

**Alien26: Hey, it's OK, I'm nearly at exams, so I'll be taking a break from writing for two months or so. Yes, and all improvised forks are regarded as TECHNO-HERESY. Till later!**

**Colonelwalrus: I found out I like writing in techpriest lingo. And the chaplain, that's a question of opinion really. To everyone else, Lister would seem like the idiot. **

**ClickaholicAnonymous: Matroyshka is a damn twisted story, I can see why you were put off. Still, it was great – in a macabre way. Yeah, this story arc is really just an interim part detailing the general life of a marine initiate of the Luna Wolves. I noticed it doesn't have any direction as well, haha. Rest assured, this one's the last of this arc. Next, the missions!**

**O'Shovah: Hey again dude! I know there were Iterators in those times, but would a marine really even consider what was coming out some puny little human's mouth? I considered iterators as well, that was a conundrum that knackered me for about half an hour. I decided to use an 'atheist' chaplain as the medium of the Emperor's truth eventually. Oh, and chaplains are also responsible for the brothers' spiritual and mental well-being as well, another reason that convinced me to use them. Thanks for the critique! And by the way, how's your Tau fic going? **

Three weeks later, I vigorously rubbed my scarred back on my bunk, rejoicing that I could move properly again. Jovi, it had been a hellish three weeks. Astartes training did not mix with getting hurt, because every time I had moved a stiff scab on my flayed hide would burst. The evidence was on the back of my Luna Wolves tunic, the white permanently stained with blotches of brown and off-yellow.

"Haha!" I laughed, flexing and tensing my back wildly. Two metres across the room, Sky slumbered on obliviously. Just last week that would have brought about throes of agony, but no more! My back was just a mass of fused scar tissue, the barb marks clear across the marred surface – but hey, as Sammo once said, it sure did scar up nicely.

Then I thought back to the whipping, and a dark cloud settled over me. _That chaplain's gonna pay_, I mused vengefully. I didn't know how, or when, but I would get back at him one way or another before me and Sky scrammed. My knuckles clenched white involuntarily in anger.

I know what I did was stupid, mouthing off at an eight foot tall space marine. It had always been a bad habit of mine, but really, I couldn't respect anyone that tried to shove their ideals down my throat. That sort of reckless impulsiveness had landed me that flagellation, as well as Grevan trying to murder me back on Sayre. I couldn't help it, the crap just ran off my tongue like water. I felt like an idiot, ignoring both Helfort and Sky's warnings. Hell, when Sky gets worried, you _run_.

Gah, but the bastard _whipped_ me! I snarled softly as a white of white-hot anger surged through me. I hadn't seen the black plated git since that agonising day, which was a good thing in retrospect. My idiot mouth would have gotten me killed if I had. I could just imagine me swearing at the chaplain, and his arm snaking out to smash the life out of me. And then Jovi's concert in heaven, with everyone who had ever died on Sayre. The good people, that is. The bad ones got sent to purgatory to listen to elevator music for all eternity, where it was said their screams of penitence could cut through steel. I shook my head, trying to clear it of those morbid thoughts. I didn't want to die yet.

The door slammed through its frame, propelled by a metallic tentacle. A servitor trundled into the room, beer cans crackling and crunching underneath its treads. I instinctively moved back in horror. This one had a woman's face, devoid of any mechanical alterations save its broken caricature of a face. A whir of gears, and the grisly face turned to regard me.

"Calibration of mechandrite required," it said, referring to the broken door. I groped for my bolter for comfort.

"Uh – yeah," I said. What the hell was this thing doing at – Oh shit! I forgot to go down to the Engineerium!

"Record: initialising," droned the woman-servitor. The techmarine's basso tones blared out, strangely at odds with the sad little servitor. "Initiate Lister, report to the Engineerium. Your presence is required. End of recording."

The servitor did an abrupt about-turn, swivelling by the waist in a sickening manoeuvre. It reversed out of the room, leaving the stench of preserved flesh and formaldehyde behind. I fought down the urge to gag. Those things were sickening, especially their faces. Every time I looked at one of their abandoned visages I saw the lobotomised remains of my old orphanage mates.

I crept out of the room after the dead thing, quietly jamming the door back into its hinges with ease. I looked at my arms, now far tougher and brawnier than they had been two months ago. In fact, I was starting to put on some muscle at just about everywhere. This Astartes training was doing its work on me. That, and the fact that for the first time in my life I had three meals a day. _Three_ meals! I felt like a slob on my first day when I had been served something called 'lunch'. Back on Sayre there was only breakfast and dinner; and what a poor affair that had been – just some scruffy nutri-weeds and gritty bread, and the occasional desert fowl.

I waited at the entrance of the cargo lift, praying to Jovi that the nutty techpriests wouldn't be taking it down. Last week, I had been mobbed again by that crowd, ecstatic over their new 'improvements'.

"Initiate Lister! Observe the operation of my new digestive tract!" gabbled a jubilant techpriest, its tentacles grasping me painfully in its excitement. The STC discovery on Sayre had started something of a craze among the red-robes.

The crowd gasped – or what passed as gasping among the red-robes; a cacophony of wheezes and beeps. The techpriest's face began to shift, the armour outside locking back to reveal a black hole.

"Bless the Omnissiah," they had chanted as the machine-man took out a STC fork. I didn't see anything special with it, but who knows.

"Query. Do any of us possess consumables?" he warbled. I nodded, pulling out a bar of combat rations. Jovi, they were foul, all bitter and salty. And we weren't even in combat.

The red-robes chanted as the bar was speared with the fork and lifted reverently to the techpriet's mouth. "Ooooohhh, aaaahhhh," marvelled the assembled crowd in rapt appreciation.

The 'mouth' cycled rhythmically, small blades mashing the bar into pulp as it was fed in. It was at about halfway in when I realised the plastic wrapper was still on. I opened my mouth to speak, but was cut off by the hungry techpriest.

"These alkane chains are simply divine!" it announced. I felt a small smile form on my face. _Never talk with your mouth full,_ had been a constant remonstration back in the orphanage.

_Ping!_ The cheery sound of the lift's arrival echoed through the deserted metal corridors. The Imperial eagle, or 'aquila' as I was told, split in two as the door opened. Whew, the machine-men weren't here. I stepped gratefully into the lift, enjoying the solitude.

Several minutes later, I walked into the clanking abyss of the techmarine's lair. New machinery had been installed in the high ceilings, the meaty throb of their pistons pulsing in the thick, sulphurous air. I carefully pushed aside a stack of coils, mindful not to disturb it too much. One shove too hard and an entire rusty edifice of machinery could crash down. Probably on me, which didn't bear thinking.

"So initiate, you finally decide to come," breathed the techmarine behind me. Jovi damn! How did he creep up on me like that? I whirled around guiltily, excuses forming on my lips. The techmarine waved an armoured gauntlet perfunctorily, anticipating what I was about to say.

"I require you to help me repair these power swords," he announced as he led me to a jumble of machinery. The ruddy red glow of the Engineerium seemed to emanate from here, a gigantic furnace dominating the mountains of mechanical scrap as if it were a squatting tyrant. The heat crept insidiously into my tunic and I immediately broke out into a sweat.

"Here," he said, dumping a heavy sack of mesh into my hands. A metallic _clank_ rang through the air as I shifted it, and I could feel the outlines of the contents through the heavy mesh bag. Swords. Quite a few of them. "Our company was deployed on the Ork world of Vernu a few days back. They encountered heavy resistance, and these blades are a testament to that."

Wow, I never knew he could be so eloquent. The rubiginous steel mask regarded me clinically, the eyes hidden in the deeply recessed vision slit that ran across the front of the helmet. To me, the marine looked even more terrifying without the glowing eyes. The abyssal darkness in that visor presented a soulless front, devoid of mortal sentiments or fallacies. At least with those infernal red eyes you could lock eyes with the man behind the helmet.

"Aye, sir," I replied, knuckling my brow. "But I dunno how."

"Very well. I shall teach you," he boomed. He bent down awkwardly, picking out a broken sword. I noticed again that he couldn't bend his neck, making him adopt a rather stiff posture while looking down. Feeling bold, I asked the marine why.

"Hey – sir, how come you can't bend your neck?" 

The marine swivelled his body towards me – a full body turn. An armour-encased arm rose to tap the neck joint, which I saw was locked flush onto the base of the grim helmet.

"The Imperium does not yet possess the adequate neural connector technology to synchronise neck movements with our armour systems. We have experimented using flexible neck seals, but these detract from a marine's vacuum survivability, as well as removing support from the neck. Thirty five point six-four-seven kilograms is a great weight for even a marine's neck to bear."

"Holy hell," I blurted out. "It weighs that much?"

"Affirmative. I would nod, but you know that I cannot," the techmarine said. Was that humour in his voice? I think it was, from his quasi-ironic tone.

"Now, let us continue. You see the power pack at the top of the hilt?" The marine showed me the sword, a stubby finger indicating the power pack. I nodded.

"What that do?" I mumbled.

In response the marine's hand tightened, and the shattered blade erupted in flame! I jumped back in shock. Arcs of energy shimmered and played across the now-iridescent surface, crackling most fiercely at the broken end as if in anger. The marine raised the sundered weapon in front of his visor, its defiant light shining its brilliance through the dim forge.

"Behold the power sword," intoned the marine, his baritone voice filling with an ancient strength. "Alien splitter, the tamer of worlds. Venerated machine-spirit, I implore thee to restore thy former glory."

He kneeled in supplication, lifting the broken blade above him as if praying to it. I watched on as the fingers of his gauntlet gripped the hilt tighter in liturgical fervour. Slowly, the ethereal lights faded and flickered away as the sword deactivated. He popped out the power pack, placing it onto a bench next to us.

"Every machine, no matter how small, has a sentient spirit," murmured the giant in reverent tones. "Beware its wrath if you displease it."

I laughed inwardly. I think these guys worshipped their gadgets! What a joke of a religion! Luckily, however, I managed to keep my mouth shut this time as the marine continued. The scars of my whipping were all too fresh on my newly healed back.

"All machines are ruled by the great Machine-God, and the Emperor is his Omnissiah. From the Machine-God comes all the knowledge and technology mankind possesses."

I grit my teeth, careful not to show how much this blasphemy went against the teachings of Bon Jovi.

"Back to business. Now that you have removed the power pack, you may also take off the transmitter cables without requiring further supplication," he said, peeling off strips of lustrous metal off the blade with the tips of his armoured fingers. I cringed at the thought of using my pathetic fingernails. They would be bloody wrecks in a minute straight.

"You may carefully use a chisel if your hands prove inadequate," directed the techmarine, pointing at the tools scattered on the bench. That elicited a sigh of relief from me. "Then, you grind the broken edges onto the grinder," he continued. A torrent of burning sparks spurted from the grinder end, the rough metal slowly eroding the hard steel of the sword. I clapped my hands around my ears as a deafening screech filled the forge.

After a while, the noise abated as the marine lifted the blade from the grinder. "There, that should be enough," he announced, holding up the sword for me to see. The jagged and torn edge had been ground straight, the cooling metal still glowing a sullen red from the friction. "As flat as possible, Initiate Lister. It is much easier to reforge them if they are in that condition," instructed the techmarine. "Now, I have my work to do, and you have yours,"

With that parting remark, he went off, disappearing behind the mountains of scrap in a few scant seconds. I sighed, shaking my head. Reaching into the sack, I pulled out my first broken sword. _Vauteris_, read the inscription on the hilt. Whether it was the owner's or sword's name, I didn't know. I flipped it around, careful of the torn shards on the business end of the sword. The grip was far too long for me, which made sense since it was a marine gripping it. A glittering gem was embedded in the centre of the crossguard, a thick strip of black metal that ran perpendicular to the silvery blade. I searched for the activation button out of curiosity, turning the sword around and around.

Nothing. What the hell? How the techmarine turn it on? My mind went back to where he had gripped the sword, the gloved fingers tightening around the hilt. That was it! I squeezed the grip with both hands, willing the sword to activate. Knuckles white and tendons bulging, I throttled the unyielding hilt with all my strength. _Come on, dammit!_ After several minutes of fruitless attempts, I gave up, hurling the sword at a nearby stack of gears. _Jovi damn!_ Why were marines so strong? The blade clanged off the rusty metal, clattering on the floor without so much as a dent. Swearing, I bent down to pick the bloody thing up.

Where was that chisel? Ah! I flipped the heavy chisel into my palm, and began to hammer at the connector strips on the surface of the blade with a vengeance.

_Zak!_ I yelped as part of the strip exploded in flame. Hot! Hot! I frantically stuck my scalded hand into my mouth, the saliva little balm for the burn. The chisel lay smoking on the ground where I had dropped it. I glared at the recalcitrant sword in distaste. Damn, I had forgotten to remove the power pack. Damned thing. I jacked it out of its slot with the long end of the chisel. Now I could get to work.

The strips came off with some effort, just curled strings of metal with little knobbly heads at the ends scattered the dirty workbench. I pressed the 'on' button for the grinder, readying the blade to be ground. Steeling myself, I forced the end of the broken blade into the grinder. _Shit,_ I thought, wincing as the incredible vibrations ran up my arm. It took all of my strength to hold it in place. Not to mention the sound. It was like someone endlessly being tortured.

The sword gradually seemed to sink into the grinder as its metal was abraded off. Not without great relief, I took the sword off the grinder as the jagged shards and cracks disappeared, leaving a stub of sword behind. _Number one done,_ I imagined myself jovially announcing to an attentive rusty cog. _And another million to go! Three cheers for Team Lister, Lister and Lister!_ Jovi damn. I had hoped to get a decent night's sleep.

I pulled out the sack again, taking out another beaten-up looking sword. It was about a metre long, and _Revenex_ was its name. These names were depressing, no doubt about it. They had that stuffy Terran ring about them. Earth sounded like was covered in mothballs from what I had seen of the Imperium.

_Hrmm, if I had a sword, what would I call it?_ I pondered over this as I chipped off the connector strips. Hey – I did remember to take out the power pack this time! '_Jovi's Big Four-footer'_ popped into my mind, with '_PLACE NECK HERE' _coming a close second.

Such were the paltry things I thought about as I whiled away the night down in the bowels of the ship.

…...

The next day, I battled sleep as our squad attended the weekly 'Weapons Recognition Training' session, as Sergeant Jevarn put it. His gruff voice echoed throughout the empty room and bounced fruitlessly around in the squad's emptier minds. I swear, feral worlders had mental disabilities. They were so damn – well, thick. Anything more complicated than a club or sword was dismissed as 'witchery' or 'godcraft' by most of the squad. That even applied to Helfort.

Skylan on the other hand, tried out everything – and broke it. I smiled briefly as the image of Sky wrecking the heavy bolter he had been given in training. He had somehow managed to detonate all the explosive bolts in the ammunition feed. The entire rig had fallen off his back and the weapon had practically exploded. His response to the shocked silence made me snort in sudden amusement.

"Fuck yeah, baby! Gimme another!" he had yelled triumphantly, pumping his fists in the air. Needless to say, he didn't get another.

In fact, apart from Sernax nobody could use those heavy bolters. They were too damn heavy, and impossible to aim. I heard that Sernax had been from some high-tech world, so I figured that made sense. He had been whisked away after that session, and went to heavy weapons training instead of fire drills with the rest of us.

"Dost thou sink ever into the abyss of slumber?" Helfort muttered next to me.

I was getting used to his odd dialect. "Yeah, this is as boring as hell," I murmured quietly.

"Aye, with haste shall this blather be consigned to the river Lethe." Helfort shook his head despairingly. "Mine eyes too close ever shut."

Eh, what? The display on the wall was showing a big metal tube. _'Astartes pattern missile launcher'_ read the caption. I had seen one of these before. The captain had blown up those Vypers way back on Sayre. It seemed so long ago, yet so recent. The sergeant began to explain the details of its operation in excruciating detail to his dumbstruck audience. Not that it mattered. Only Sernax had understood this techno-speak. Me, I couldn't concentrate. It took a huge effort to even sit still. To me, there were only a few things I needed to know about a gun. The rest was just blather, as Helfort had pointed out.

The first one was: _Where was the trigger?_ A very important one.

The second: _Is it easy to use?_

The third – probably the most important to me – was: _Do I have to clean the bloody thing afterwards?_

Yeah, life was simple. The screen switched to show some exotic-looking weapon. A gun, obviously, but the barrel was comprised of a glowing blue tube with coils.

"The plasma gun," announced Jevarn's didactic voice. "Mark I Eclipse. Armour piercing, shots explosive on impact, rate of fire: six RPM with cooldown, blah, blah, blah..."

And so he went on. Sky was already asleep, the lucky bum. Helfort leaned over a little.

"I would fain throw my shoe at the good sergeant, such is mine mood."

"Hell yeah, buddy. This is more boring than the orphanage back home," I muttered back.

"Thou hath no parents?" queried Helfort.

I shook my head. "Ever since I was born. Ain't been no one there for me since the beginning of time. They found me in a cardboard box, they said." It was quite easy to talk about this – I had long gotten used to it.

"Thy life is a harsh journey, friend," he said quietly. I guess he was uncomfortable talking about this.

"You had parents, yeah?" I asked.

"Aye. Ortal was my sire, Mysikah was my mam, Hibern bless their kind souls. Mine father was of common stock, but by great deeds of valour won me a place in the ranks of the knights." 

My interest was piqued by those exotic words: mam and father. To me, they were foreign, alien concepts – the same applied to everyone else in the orphanage. We had never known the warm embrace of a mother's loving arms, nor the reassuring touch of a father's firm hands. I suddenly felt cheated of something important.

"What's it like havin' a mother and father?" As soon as the words left my mouth I immediately regretted them. Helfort gave me an incredulous look – as if asking, '_Are you an idiot_?'

"A great bore on the most part – ah, my apologies Lister." He tugged a dirty-blond forelock at me with an regretful grin. "Mine mother was a kind, loving dame, a quiet lady whose carriage was that of a a great queen. Oh, and the delightful victuals she could prepare!"

I nodded frantically, hanging on to every word. This was a life I had never, ever experienced. Something holy, something to be treasured and cherished. For a moment I wondered what a family with Jane would have been like. For all the kids' sakes I hoped they would all be like her. Anyone as stupid and reckless as me was bound to get into scrapes. Sounds corny, but at Jovi-knows how many light-years away from Sayre, that was my life ambition as of now. I hoped to settle down with her in some cosy house in the desert once I escaped from the Astartes. Yes, that would be the life.

"Mine sire...my sire was a man-at-arms of Lord Montcliffe. A fine and loyal liege-man, he was oft a halberd bearer and at the vanguard of our war trains. Little I saw of him as a wee babe, but those rare occurrences were always joyful."

Jovi, he was so damn _lucky_. "Do you-" I began. Sergeant Jevarn's angered voice cut through our whispered conversation like a hot knife.

"Do you two idiots consider yourselves knowledgeable of all Astartes weaponry?" he roared. Shocked silence reigned as the squad tried to shrink away from us. Sky awoke with a snort, pulling himself upright.

"We, ah..." I stammered.

"Initiate Lister! What weapon is this? State its Mark, its projectile specifications, historical context!" he instructed, eyes narrowed wrathfully. Something that looked like a gun with a long tube for a barrel filled the screen.

"Uh, cannon? I dunno, Mark forty, shoots deadly crap, has blown up lots of xenos and humans in its time?" I gabbled, trying to make the statements as general as possible. To be honest, every gun the space marines used was in essence a cannon. The recoil spoke volumes.

"Wrong! Lascannon, Mark I Destroyer Pattern, armour piercing, first used on Mars. Report to the Master of Scribes after this for additional writing lessons, you two fools." 

Damn. Well, at least that was comparatively light punishment to what we usually got. Normally it was extra close-combat drills or running – no, sprinting non-stop around that bloody concrete square. An oval-shaped impression had already been formed about its perimeter from all the running feet pounding away at it.

Jovi damn. The Master of Scribes was a servitor pretending to be human, in my opinion. That, and I had no talent for anything literary as well.

"A five year old on Terra could write better," droned the Master as he crumpled my a page of my wobbly writing in a blue veined fist. I remember swearing as he did. That had taken me two hours to write! I got another session with him for my pains, that soggy bastard.

Another bloody day went by like a blink.

**OK, this is it for two months. I have the big exams in about a month and a half – so I won't be writing for this period. It;s the equivalent of GSCEs and whatnot. Look, to all my loyal readers, could you do me a BIG favour? As this is the end of two story arcs, I'd like all of you to give me a general critique of all aspects of this story. Feel free to throw in as much detail as possible, and criticisms as well. A month-long hiatus should be able to reform me. Have a good time, everyone – and remember, I'm counting on you! **


	20. Targren IV: The Plan

**SGT CJC: Lower your axe, Space Wolf, and embrace the power of KAYOOOOOS. Jokes. The Horus Heresy is a LONG way away. I don't even know whether Lister is going to go chaos or loyal. Thanks for reviewing.**

**Bludwyn: Haha, I like Angry Marines too.**

**Austhor's note: Alright, these two months nearly killed me, I'm still in exams but I've finished the biggies. I had so many damn ideas bubbling in my head I felt the urge to write some down, so here it is. Lister's first deployment. For the Emprah (or Chaos, your pick)**

"Commencement in ten seconds," blared a mechanical voice. I gripped my bolter a bit harder.

"Nine." I adjusted a strap in my combat armour.

"Eight." Safety off.

"Seven." I want to go to the loo again.

"Six." Spit at the thought.

"Five." _Did I even load my damn gun?_

"Four." I hoped I would do better than Skylan.

"Three." They really can count, can't they?

"Two." A prayer to Jovi.

"One." _May all live-fire training sessions go to hell!_

"Commence."

Lights flared and klaxons howled, the mock-Stormbird cargo door slamming down with a thunderous roar. I dropped nimbly down the three meter drop to the hard-packed ground, scanning for the combat servitors that would be trying to kill me.

"All servitors now active. Search and destroy." _Jovi guide my hand..._ I prayed, squeezing my bolter tight, ducking into the bushes.

I was still on the _Armageddon Knight_, the Seventeenth Company's battle barge. How they managed to fit this so-called 'terrarium' into its bowels remained a mystery to me. Sixth months had passed in a flash, monotonous days of ruthless training and punishments bleeding into a pain-filled blur. All I had to show for it was an array of rock-hard muscles under a skin festooned with scars and bruises. It seemed like I was getting taller as well. I wondered if Jane would be impressed.

A rustle of leaves snapped my attention back into the training ground, a red flash of targeters there, spindly metal legs there. I cursed softly as I lathered my body with mud. Camouflaged armour defeated human eyes. But only cold mud could defeat heat-sensors.

I sighted down my bolter, its weight no longer troubling my strengthened arms. In fact, it was almost a reflexive action, but it troubled me every time. I hated it. It was as if I was becoming one of _them._ A space marine.

Sweat trickled down my face, carving lines through the already-drying mud.

Fear. I doubted they would ever take that away from me.

A servitor stalked into view, its guns tracking across the bushes. With a jolt of terror I realised I should moved. By Jovi, they were all going to come here!

_You idiot, Lister!_ I mentally harangued myself just as another servitor crashed into view.

It was an ugly thing. A full-scale battle-servitor, it was a living cadaver armoured in sheets of plating, with large-calibre bolters replacing its arms. A sensory array protruded from its helmet, always looking, searching. Searching for me.

I stilled myself as their unseeing eyes passed over my position. I had seen what these monsters had done to Yumec, a feral worlder in Squad Blue. They had torn off his arm before Condor shut the servitors down. I don't know what scared me more; his bloodied wreck of an arm or Condor's expressionless mask of a face as he regarded my screaming squadmate.

_Shoot them, dammit!_ I grinned as I pulled the trigger, bolts clunking as they were spat from their magazine, then flaring violently as their propellant ignited. A servitor buckled as my bolts tore into it.

I ducked in and out of the trees, always moving to avoid their fire. Jevarn's endless drills took over my legs as I danced about the whirling servitors. A shredded line of foliage dogged me as I ran, but –

_Shit!_ A third servitor loomed in front of me, newly arrived. I cursed as it swung its chainblade, teeth gnashing in frustration as I flung myself to the side.

_Jovi damn!_ Clicking its release I shook out the bolter's magazine, frantically slamming in a new one. I didn't trust myself to count over twenty – that was close! The new servitor's armour sparked as the original duo fired and missed me.

I swore as I quickly backed from the melee servitor, firing off shots at the other two. I saw one drop and crumple, its head ruined.

"That one's for you, Yumec," I muttered savagely.

The last shooter advanced relentlessly, lead pouring out of its muzzle. It tore apart the foliage with its fury. I screamed in defiance, firing back.

"You piece of – argh!" A great punch smashed into my chest, knocking me into the ground. My hands scrabbled desperately at my chest, dreading the pulsing blood...but finding hot metal embedded in my chest plate. Time stood still as I shakily held the bullet between two fingers, feeling them singe, feeling _life_. It could have killed me, but Jovi had seen fit to spare me.

The two servitors strode into view, and suddenly, I knew what to do. I picked up my bolter and pulled the trigger, spraying the gunner in the head with full-auto bolter fire. I laughed madly as the shattered fragments bit into my face, watching as it keeled over and spasmed violently.

I turned my gun on the other one, vainly trying to fire my now-empty weapon. The gleaming teeth caught the light as they swept up – the killing blow – my death blow. It descended.

And stopped.

I stood, poised to die, not quite taking in what was going on. The arm that held the blade was as still as a statue, the mechanical eyes once more lifeless. I dropped down onto the ground, still trying to comprehend what just happened. Then I laughed hysterically, body shaking. Man, it felt good to be alive.

"Cease field manoeuvres and report to the Training Hall," announced the disembodied voice. My would-be killer lurched and shambled off. I goggled at the absurdity of it. Even one of the servitors I had slain was twitching in a macabre parody of following its orders. I reloaded and shot it, kicking its ruined head as I passed.

"Exiting warp-space in five minutes."

That didn't sound good. I hurried off into the twisting corridors.

…...

"Shit, Lister, tha' was bad..." groaned Sky. Like me, he had put on another body's worth of muscle for these six months. His red hair had been buzz-cut recently, the cruel razor cuts still vividly etched on his scalp. And like me, he also hated warp jumps. But who didn't?

"Wish they could cut down on these Jovi-forsaken jumps," I griped. The lights of the training hall seemed to dim in agreement.

Warp jumps were terrifying, harrowing ordeals full of dread voices in the dark. Marines regularly patrolled the corridors, treating each and every suspicious noise with the utmost caution. It was said that men had been dragged screaming into the dark whenever the warp shields flickered. There was an element of truth to these horrific rumours. I had seen the hastily covered-up bloodstains down in the bowels of the ship. I prayed to Jovi daily to spare me and my friends.

"Mayhap thou cannot stomach a man's task?" taunted Helfort. Six months, and they were still at each other's throats. Helfort had acquired a chainsword from somewhere, and was the only one other than Sernax to dismantle an entire servitor wave. He too had his head cropped again, but sported a stubbly blonde beard that sprouted yet more hairs every day. Helfort finished with a laugh. "Lily-livered –"

"Shuddup, bitch! I cain't unnerstand what youse saying, ya dumbass!" was Sky's retort.

"Thy words are a mockery of Gothic! Foulest slanderer, take thy unclean self back to the –" spluttered Helfort.

"Yeah – whatever, ha!– take this!" Sky leaned forward, spraying his water bottle into Helfort's rapidly reddening face.

For a moment, it looked as if Helfort was going to whip out his chainsword and have it at Sky. He stood up, trembling slightly...and abruptly burst out laughing.

We stared at Helfort, not knowing what to do. Then his hand snaked out and mashed a fruit into Skylan's face.

"Ha, Skylan! He gotcha there!" I chortled. Sernax sniggered as well.

I had gotten to know the olive-skinned, dark haired tech-worlder a bit more during these months. Although not the best at close-combat or aiming, he certainly was the most educated out of all of us. He was also the designated heavy-weapons man of Squad Blue, lugging around a scaled-down heavy bolter and its ammunition during fire training. My feelings were still teetering on the line on whether to befriend him or not. His dry, often sardonic personality wasn't particularly enamouring.

"Pissants! I'll get ya back, Helfort!" He shook his fist at our medieval buddy, bits of fruit still sliding off his face. We continued to laugh at him as Sergeant Jevarn swept in.

"Silence!" he snapped, stilling the room. Skylan's fruit slowly dripped off his face. He took out a roll of parchment and unfurled it.

"I have two announcements to make. Initiates, it is to my great shock that the Apothecarium has deemed you lot of miscreants worthy of your next batch of implants. May you not be as useless after it."

I paled at the thought. I didn't want more things stuck in me! I had dreams about those – those _things_ – in me, festering and crawling out of my mouth. I wanted nothing more than to be rid of them. But how? After – if, we escaped, how would we get rid of them?

"Your Haemastamen and Larraman's Organ shall both be implanted either tonight or tomorrow morning. It is a great honour to have come this far – an honour few in this galaxy achieve. Now –"

He was interrupted by a barrage of cheers, my squadmates hugging each other and pounding their comrade's shoulders. I felt sick. Although Helfort was enthusiastically whooping, I noticed Skylan wasn't. He shot me a worried glance, the first I had ever seen from him. _What was he up to?_

"My second announcement..." the sergeant paused dramatically, Squad Blue holding their breaths. I didn't. "Is that we have arrived in the Targren System to bring the Emperor's light to our fellow man!"

The hall erupted in a roar of bloodthirsty laughter. 'To bring the Emperor's light' meant to kicking a planet in its proverbial balls until it stopped fighting. The sergeant banged at a battered projector, its lenses unsteadily projecting an image of a azure-blue world onto a nearby wall.

"Behold, your first combat deployment. We will be transferring from the _Armageddon Knight _into the strike cruiser _Moonsword_ after your respective surgeries, in order to work ahead of the fleet. Our opposition..."

My squad jeered and hissed their derision. Converts, all of them. I had a sinking feeling that Helfort wouldn't be coming with us. I just hoped he wouldn't try stop us. He was an absolute terror with a chainsword. Jevarn raised his voice.

"Our enemies consist of an organisation known as the Combine of Free Peoples. This world," he jabbed a finger at the blue ball. "Is known as Targren Four, the only inhabitable planet in a system of five. The locals call it Kayeaf Cee. Historical records indicate it was settled in late M16 by settlers fleeing some sort of 'corporate nation' war."

I leant in closer to listen, my interest finally piqued. My childhood had been filled with fantastical legends of heroes and heroines doing battle against evil psykers and greedy star-conglomerates. Such villians were fickle and capricious, aiding the forces of Jovi, then betraying them again and again. I thought fondly back to the cautionary tales of the hungry ogre Gitler of fabled Jaemanie, the many sins of Sir Ronald Mackdornold; and that ever-conniving bastard the Grey Earl of Brittanicia.

"Nevertheless, these former settlers possess a relatively high standard of military hardware. Targren Four is split mainly into two continents; with a mainly temperate climate due to its distance from its from its star, with ice-caps on the poles."

The squad stared at him in utter confusion. Yes – six months, and most of them hadn't learnt a thing! Me included, I have to admit, but I was never a good student anyway. But at least I understood what the sergeant was saying.

"Ha! We will not be freezing our asses off on the poles however!" laughed the sergeant, clearly mistaking the squad's slack-jawed expressions for dread. "Our mission is to infiltrate and destroy military compounds as preparation for invasion, as well as gathering intelligence of the enemy's disposition. Any questions?"

To my surprise, Skylan put his hand up. "Eh – sarge, when we'll be getting' there?"

"A week, I said," he growled, turning away to fiddle with the spluttering projector.

Skylan swivelled back to spear me with his gaze, ice-blue eyes burning into mine with a furious intensity.

Now I understood. On Targren Four, our first and last deployment, we were going to desert the Luna Wolves forever.

We were going home.

…...

Later that night my squad was still in the training hall, waiting in breathless anticipation of their implants. Bar me and Skylan, of course. We hadn't had time to discuss our escape in private. Instead, Yumec was busy showing off his new mechanical arm, the replacement for the one the training servitor had lopped off.

"This...a – arm? Is that how I say?" he carefully spoke, still new to Gothic. He was one of the two feral-worlders in Squad Blue to even make an effort to learn Gothic. And we had four of them. "Very strong. Mighty and rocky...no – hard? Is that how you say?"

His onlookers – Sky, Helfort, Sernax, Mogas and I all nodded. It would be good to have another person to talk to once Yumec had learnt Gothic. Well, enough Gothic to stop talking like a three-year old.

With a jolt – I realised just how surreal this situation was. Eight people from homeworlds countless miles apart, sitting in the same room holding a conversation. Eight people from vastly different cultures and traditions chatting away with each other. For the first few months, I only recognised Helfort and Sky, the rest of the squad's faces blurring into a crowd of meaningless identities. Now I could tell who was who by the appearance of their silhouette.

The feral worlder brushed some of his muddy brown hair from his forehead and scratched a ruddy cheek, marvelling at the eerie dexterity of his new steel forearm. He was probably the tallest among us, a dark-skinned, lanky kid who was full of jutting elbows and knees. Unlike the other ferals, or 'apes' as some idiots liked to call them, he could shoot to some degree. I was proud to admit that he wasn't as good as me.

Actually, I probably was the best shot out of the entire squad. Probably the result of being forced into the Sayrean PDS. Looking back, that sod Grevan was nothing compared to what Jevarn and Condor dished out. Just that the Astartes sergeants knew how to torture us without killing us.

"I...what was the word? Look forth – no, forward to receithing...um..." Yumec's awkward sentence petered off, obviously unable to express his thoughts in Gothic.

"Receiving?" ventured a bored Sernax.

In contrast to the rest of the squad, Sernax came from the fabled tech-system of Plathos. He had been a noble, one of the so-called 'Techocrats' of some sorts before he joined the Legion. As a result he still put on airs in some circumstances, especially when others couldn't do what he could. This irritating habit often manifested during live-fire drills and _mechaniks_ classes, where most of the squad stood scratching their balls and picking their noses in confusion. We simply knocked him down on the arse a bit harder in close-combat training to even things out. Tech-worlders couldn't brawl to save their lives.

"Yes! I...ah..." Yumec continued.

The double doors burst open, Sergeant Jevarn striding in. He pointed an imperious finger at Mogas.

"Initiate Mogas, the Apothecarium will see you first," he commanded. We gave him reassuring punches on the shoulder as he got to his feet. I made sure I looked enthusiastic as I wished him luck. It wouldn't do to let anyone know I was deserting.

There was a moment of silence after the doors swung shut.

"Pray tell, shall we entreat Argeh and Harog to join with us?" suggested Helfort.

I grimaced at the thought. Those two; Argeh and Harog, were also feral worlders, but unlike Yumec and Mogas they hadn't even tried to learn Gothic. Even Jevarn couldn't get them to talk, instead, he yelled and gestured until they followed his orders. Normally they kept themselves apart from the rest of the squad, jabbering and grunting away in some exotic off-worlder tongue.

"Good friends, I bid thee to tell us of thy thoughts," Helfort called to the two in the corner. They gave him one confused look before turning away.

"What the hell's with those two?" I muttered irritably. It was as if they were better than the rest of us or something.

Sky decided to voice yet another of his typically ribald comments.

"Bet they're degenerates. In it together!"

We roared with laughter, clapping each other on the backs. It was a few minutes before my sides stopped shaking with mirth. Back on Sayre – those sort of people were treated with scorn and derision, often hunted down like psykers. It was said that both were a perversion of the natural order. Yumec looked on with naive interest.

"I bet that's what you're into, Sky," I shot back, feeling sorry for those two. I was sure that they weren't, and anyway, what was the fun in insulting someone who couldn't argue back?

"Prithee, fool! Thy thick skull must be filled with the foulest rot to conjure up such low thoughts!" admonished an outraged Helfort.

"Hey – what's wrong with those sort of people anyway? Aren't they human beings as well? They do have lives you know, just like the rest of us," interrupted Sernax. I noticed he hadn't been laughing.

The three of us rounded on the tech-worlder, looking at him in astonishment. Defending those unnatural bastards? That was like defending a psyker!

"You're joking, right?" I growled, voice low with menace.

Sernax stood his ground. "Look at it, Lister. They're human beings as well. They have a right to do what they want, be with whoever they want to be..."

His voice trailed off as Skylan loudly cracked his knuckles. Helfort was absently fingering the hilt of his chainsword.

"Oi, you're not going to intimidate _me_, you three. On Plathos we had many good people like that who never harmed a fly in their lives. Acceptance is the key to an advanced society." He stood up, arms crossed stubbornly.

Who the hell was _he _to preach about this? I felt a raw tide of anger wash through me. I wanted to punch Sernax.

"'Ey Sernax, ya like psykers as well? Ya, know, 'accept 'em' while they're ripping ya guts out with them warp-foulness?" snarled Sky, an ugly look simmering in his eyes. Helfort cursed softly and spat onto the polished metal floor.

"Look, it's my view, it's worked for the last thousand years or so. Can't you see? And no, I don't like those warp-freaks," Sernax said, hands raised placatingly.

There was something distinctly threatening about the way Skylan was standing, as if he would jump on Sernax at any second. The metallic tang of anger filled the air. Yumec stood between them, unsure of what was going on.

"You know, you _really, really_ ought to change your view," I murmured, making the threat clear in my voice.

He looked at me in disgust, and pointed at me. "What's on your back, Lister? What is on your back?"

"How does this –" I began, but he cut me off.

_"What – is – on – your – back?" _

My hand jerked to the feel my back, rubbing across...

Rubbing across my scars.

I suddenly felt ashamed, terribly ashamed. For someone who confessed to follow Jovi's teachings of freedom and independence, for someone who hated Chaplain Pynaeum and his Imperial Truth, I had acted just like him. I had tried to ram my ideas down his throat, nearly resorting to violence when he disagreed.

I was a dirty hypocrite.

I jerked away from the group, stumbling to the doors. Half of me still cried '_Belt him Lister, you're still right!'_

I slammed a fist into the door, hoping to find pain, to fuel the flames of anger. But the touch of the cool metal only extinguished the blaze.

_Be the man, Lister._ The other half, with a voice that sounded like Jane's, urged to me to go back. I leaned my forehead against the door, searching for that calm, rational cold. I found it.

I turned back, hesitantly facing a shocked Sernax.

"Look, I'm sorry buddy. I – I shouldn't have been such a stupid bastard." I said, eyes lowered in shame. I stuck out a hand. "Quits?"

To my surprise, he clasped my hand warmly and smiled. "Quits," he replied firmly.

We turned to Skylan and Helfort, who were watching us oddly.

"Whatever," muttered Sky with a savage snort. He strode away without a second glance. Helfort pursed his lips thoughtfully and waited with us.

No one said anything for a while, a terse silence hushing the hall. Then Yumec abruptly broke the ice.

"What does 'Bet they're degenerates' mean?"

Skylan gave a great laugh and rejoined us. He obviously had chosen to forget about what Sernax had said before as he filled Yumec in with all the luridly explicit details. But, as I soon realised, he never spoke to Sernax about anything important again.

…...

It wasn't long before the hall was empty, with Helfort marching resolutely out the double doors with our comradely shouts spurring him on. The implants were being performed in order of our inductions into the Luna Wolves, Mogas being the first, and the last being me. I leaned against the wall next to Skylan, absently adjusting the tightness of the left shoulder strap of my armour. It had become an unfortunate habit of mine.

"Orright, since they're all gone, what's the plan?" Sky asked, keeping his voice low.

"Well, this Targren Four's a human world, right?" I replied.

He nodded, and I snorted.

"You were actually listening?"

"What the fuck else was ah' supposed ta do?"

I laughed. Miracles do happen.

"Alright. Since it's a human world, we can escape on it. Just as long as there ain't no psykers on it."

"B'fore or after? Ah'm meanin', b'fore or after the invasion?"

I thought about it for a moment, chewing my lip.

"Definitely after. They wouldn't stay for too long, right? And besides, there's less risk of us being caught by the Luna Wolves, right?"

Skylan rubbed the stubble on his cheeks, lost in planning. He spoke.

"Hmmm. What 'bout them Targren-nian sol-jas catching us?"

I grinned at him.

"They'll all be dead, remember?"

He smiled back, a dangerous, murderous light dancing in his blue eyes.

"Ah' getcha. Now, them supplies. Ah' bin re-flect-in' on this since the sarge's 'nouncement. Ah' think ah'll git the munnie an' weapons and supplies and that. Ya take the equipment, aye?"

At any other time, I would have jokingly asked Sky, "You can think?" But this was deadly serious. We both knew the Imperium could kill us if we were recaptured.

So we weren't planning on getting caught.

"Get those Imperial crowns, yeah? They're pure gold, and since we're going _backwards_ through the Imperium's road of conquests they'll be worth even more," I suggested. Sky nodded in reply.

"Ah'll try git me hands on summa tha' water'less vittles." He was referring to the dehydrated packs of food that we had been taught to use. They weighed just about nothing, and took up almost no space at all.

"I'll try get my hands on some extra weapons and ammunition, yeah? It won't look as suspicious if I do it, I did do work at the Engineerium for a while." It was true. The months I had spent with Techmarine Ferros had garnered me many friends amongst the red-robes. I felt a pang of guilt at the thought of betraying them, but the promise of freedom was too sweet.

"Good ah'dea, Lister-bro. We kin sell 'em fer munnie if we git in strife. Used to do it all the time, dude. Was a gun runner sometimes on ol' Fecky."

"Right. So after we break out, we head for the nearest starport, yeah? We'll run off into the wilderness for a few days to lose them," I said. "I'll try smuggle some maps down – shouldn't take anything 'lectric, they could trace that."

He nodded in assent.

"Try find summa tha' warm weather gear, yeah? Dunna what the sorta shit weather's on tha' planet."

"Got it. Yeah, that's about it, right?"

"No, one more thing. Wha' we do if they try foller' us?"

I grimaced. Glancing at my bolter, I made up my mind. Already, I could see my triumphant return to Sayre, with Jane running up to embrace me with love-light in her eyes. I would be a hero, a successful trader captain. I would marry Jane and have a family with her, and die a good old man.

Nothing would stop me. Nothing.

My eyes snapped back to Sky, this time spearing him with my gaze.

"We kill them."

He looked back at me, the side of his lip curling into a faint smile.

"Aye, we kill'em"

…...

An hour later, I sat by myself as I waited for the sergeant to come back for me. Sky had gone nearly a half-hour hence, and I was visibly sweating as I thought about what I was going to do.

_How could I kill a marine?_

I though back to all the lessons we had been to, where Sergeant Condor had pointed out all the flaws of the Mark II Astartes armour. The eye slit. The upper collar part of the chest plate, where bullets could deflect up into the helmet. The groin and abdomen, where all the motive power and body flexibility came from. Cut the exposed cables on the chest and on the sides of the neck and the man inside would have no power running through his armoured limbs. And of course, the big, unwieldy backpack. In some cases, the unstable, exotic energies chained inside it could explode violently, killing the marine and any caught in the blast.

_But could I really do it? Do I have the courage?_

I swore, reminding myself that the love I had for Jane and my own freedom was stronger than my fear of retribution. It had to be, or else this escape who die before it even started. And we would die as well. As an initiate's corpse or a Legionnaire, it made no difference.

Then, the guiltiest thought of all rocked me.

_How could I leave Helfort behind?_

From the beginning, the quirky medieval fellow had been with me, cajoling and encouraging me. His mannerisms were odd but strangely endearing. If I had two brothers, they would be Helfort and Skylan. I wrenched my thoughts away from Helfort, resolving to leave him something useful as an apology.

The door banged open, the harsh white glare of the outside lights turning Jevarn into a looming shadow. The dark shape crooked an arm at me.

"Initiate Lister, your turn."

**I'm not sure whether my writings up to scratch, I haven't wrote in a while. Tell me what you think please. And ah, hitting that 'publish' button is a brilliant feeling. Till next time! **


	21. Targren IV: Under the Knife

**Colonelwalrus: Lister will realise soon enough what needs to be done. Good to see you're still around.**

**Alien26: Sorry about the spelling. And all this speculation on the Heresy lol. I ought to hold a poll sometime. I don't know which way Lister will go either – but that's for later. Thanks for commenting.**

**ClickaholicAnonymous: No mate, I love your reviews. Your bluntness has inspired me to try harder, and its working. Please keep it up, I really value it. The implants question is answered in detail in this chapter. See you next time!**

**Anon: Ahhhhhhh the betting begins lol. **

**ClarkesLaw: Thanks for the add, and if you have any gripes, please let me know.**

**Author's note: Sorry for the slowness, I decided to treat the little exams like big ones. I AM as rusty as a Necron, so if there is any bad stuff in here don't be afraid to tell me. That way I can quickly regain my old skills and CLEANSE THE LIVING. Or write. **

Cold.

It seeped into my tunic and pants, its frigid tendrils clawing at my already shaky resolve. I slowly shuffled into the Apothecarium, dreading the surgeon's knife. Deep down, a nest of vipers hissed and slithered, the spawn of my fear.

_Jovi spare me, please, please._

I mouthed this prayer over and over as my bare feet trod the smooth, sterile white surface of the room. A steel chair squatted evilly in the middle of the room, as high as my head and twice as broad as my chest – the sole feature of an otherwise featureless place. I approached it nervously, running a finger over its cold metal surface. It was as cold as ice – its dead chill crueller than the arctic winds of Sayre. I shuddered in revulsion and backed away from it, pressing my back against an unyielding chrome wall.

A hidden door yawned open, an armoured marine striding out. The opening slammed shut, making me jump.

"Initiate Solas Lister, Number 1007739. Confirm," flatly stated the man. His voice grated like the sound of stone breaking.

My insides contracted in horror as I regarded his face. Or what passed as a face – a terrible melding of wriggling machinery grafted straight onto pallid, waxy flesh. Cables and wires wound their way around his head from forehead to chin, clacking and writhing steel tentacles doing their gruesome business.

_Oh Jovi, his eyes!_

They waved about on metallic stalks, like some hideous parody of an insect. One was purely mechanical – just a green ball, but the other...

The other made me gag, the sight of it enough to un-man me. A preserved human eye sat upon a nest of wiring, the faded hazel still discernible, as well as the mummified blood vessels. I retched mightily, trying to tear my gaze from the grisly object. It was obvious that he had suffered a grievous wound to the head, but it was sickening.

The snakes yawned and belched, glutted on my terror.

"Confirm?" came the command.

I forced my tongue to move, swallowing the bitter bile that had risen before.

"C – c – yes," I stuttered.

"Good..." The twin eye stalks swivelled to face me. I averted my eyes. "Do you fear me, boy?"

I didn't know what to say. My guts shrivelled in apprehension.

"Judging by your RPM, increased body heat and sweat production, I deem you a coward."

The marine turned away dismissively. I felt a surge of anger replace my fear. _That bastard_.

"I ain't scared of you!" I exclaimed. Even as the words left my mouth I heard the lie in them. But the snakes were still, seemingly slain by this already-waning fury. But I knew they were just waiting, watching, their hungry eyes glittering.

He turned around, gesturing to the chair. "Then remove the clothing on your torso and take a seat," he instructed.

I stripped off my armour and tunic, shuddering mutely from the cold. The marine had his back turned, and I saw a flash of glittering steel. I swallowed nervously, seating my stiff body on the freezing, unyielding throne. Goosebumps erupted everywhere on my flesh.

"Stay very still..." murmured the marine. The menace in his voice was palpable. I fought the urge to flee, the snakes swarming and writhing in my heart.

_HISS – CRACK!_

I yelled in surprise as taut cords wrapped around my limbs and bit deep, deep into my skin. I strained against my bonds fruitlessly, half mad with fear. Already my hands and feet were going numb. I choked as a strap wrapped itself around my forehead, and another one between my teeth, reducing my pleas to desperate groans. _Help me Jovi!_ I prayed.

But there was no divine light, and Jovi never came. Only the marine, bearing a glittering scapel and another object. Those insectoid eyes regarded me clinically.

"Now, we begin," he hissed coldly. I pulled at my bonds frantically. They didn't give.

My world whirled and spun as the chair tilted and jerked flat. I now lay on a metal bench like an animal waiting to be cut up. My hearts hammered fearfully.

He began to trace the black object down my abdomen. I braced for the pain, but no – there was none. I felt rough fingers jab and probe for the bottom of my ribs, followed by whatever he was holding. A sense of wetness lingered for a moment.

He was drawing lines on me to be cut up like a cadaver!

My fists clenched as I tried to break free once more. I saw the marine's fist descend, crashing into my nose. A nova of agony lanced deep into my skull.

"Don't move, runt," he rumbled, going back to his work.

Blood dribbled across my face, tickling and itching. An absurd urge to wipe it off came over me, but I couldn't even do that. I felt so alone, so helpless. The snakes laughed at my plight.

My torturer's macabre face loomed over me. "This is a delicate operation, one that requires you be awake for the biochemical melding to occur," he sneered, metal teeth gnashing. "You would do well to be still."

Then it began.

I screamed as I felt his blade sink into me. The strap in my mouth dug into me. I could taste blood.

_Oh Jovi, the pain – THE PAIN!_

Something smashed into me.

"Be still, runt! Lest my blade cut wrongly!" His roar cut through even my haze of agony.

I tried to slacken, tried to blot out the roaring inferno below my ribs. But my muscles clenched, and blood ran in rivulets down my body.

Black.

I snapped back and felt something _move_ in me. I spasmed and twitched, a deep, throbbing ache taking over. The room spun and spun, bloody red through my delirium.

Something cold slid inside. I rebelled, screaming wordlessly.

_Out – out – OUT! GET IT OUT!_

Another blow slammed into my face. I felt something break – more wetness on my skin. More blood.

It entered my mouth, pouring in. I choked at the iron tang of it as it flooded in. Oh Jovi, I was drowning! Fearful moans mixed with spluttering gurgles escaped my lips.

"BE STILL!"A steel hand wrenched by jaw open, forcing a metal rod into my mouth. I gagged violently, my chest exploding in agony.

My world was filled with a howling roar – the rod was sucking the blood away! I drew desperate gasping breaths, heedless of the burning below.

Another cold, metal – _foreign_ thing entered me. I lay slackly on the bench, spent and defeated. Waves of pain washed over me, pulsing mercilessly.

I was going to die.

I felt the thing begin to knit, mashing my innards together with agonising precision. The room began to fade, the cold white fading to grey.

I no longer had the strength to scream, or rage against my bonds. My limbs flopped bonelessly. Breathing was hard – but it burned less. Blood flowed unchecked.

I was going to die.

The marine's face bent over mine, the steel maw moving wordlessly. Teeth flashed and a tongue moved, but not a sound.

He didn't seem so fearsome any more.

I was too close to Jovi to care.

Too close...

The sweet scent of Elysia Plains filled my dying senses.

I could hear the holy guitars.

Closer...

I was gone.

…...

I smelt dirt.

Elysia Plains was...rocky?

My hands brushed over rough pebbles and scree, a protruding rock digging into my stomach. Not a sound could be heard.

I heaved myself up off the ground, brushing the dirt off my clothes. I had lain at the bottom of a small gully.

Wait.

My clothes.

I looked down and saw the rough, faded blue denim of my pants, and scratched and battered travelling boots. My shirt was a faded brown, shabby and fraying – nothing like the coarse stuff that I had worn before.

This was what I wore back on Sayre.

I was struck with the queer notion that I had worn something else.

And that...I had been somewhere else?

_You're going nuts, Lister_. I thought to myself. To own more than one set of clothes was a sign of wealth. And no orphan had money.

Then another odd thought floated through my addled mind.

_I'm dead?_

I sat down suddenly onto the rock-strewn ground, wincing at the pain of stones digging into my backside.

_I'm really dead?_

I looked around. The afterlife seemed like a disappointment. The sun was going down, its tired light still beating down on the lifeless rock.

I shook my head in bemusement. Where was Jovi, and his eternal concert? Where were the lights a million strong, lighting up the cosmos forever? And where were the people?

I trudged up the grey slope, cursing my luck. With luck, I could get to that hill in the distance before sundown to get my bearings. I clutched my chest as a jolt of pain stabbed through my heart.

Was that how I died?

I racked my brains for the answer. I knew I had died, yes. But my past life was a distant, faded memory. I dimly recalled the taste of bad food, and something smoky in the air. I was fairly sure that I had known a girl – there was a vague sensation of soft lips and a feminine scent lingering in my head.

Who the hell was she? Was she dead as well?

_Was she my mother?_ _Or someone else?_

Another impression flashed across my mind's eye – an hulking man with fire for eyes.

_Was that a daemon?_

An eagle with two heads.

I laughed at the absurdity of it. An eagle with two heads? Where in the seven hells did that come from?

I hurried up the hill, the sun fast sinking into the horizon. I staggered and fell as my heart spasmodically twitched, the stones cutting my palms.

_By Jovi, the afterlife is crap!_

The pain receded once more, and I continued up the hill. I reached the summit, scanning the surroundings. The sun was a bloody orb melting into the horizon, crimson and majestic. At least Jovi did the sunsets right.

I was on one of the many rocky hills littering the area, completely devoid of life. The stars began to glitter with an ethereal beauty as the sun disappeared, winking merrily at me – as if they were amused by my plight. To my right were mountains, their snowy sides shining from the starlight. They rose into the clouds, their vaulting buttresses piercing the sky. I doubted Elysia Plains was there.

So were was it? I wasn't in hell, was I?

I wasn't a murderer, right?

Right?

My chest flared in agony again. I doubled over, gagging, then it was gone. My eyes picked up something in the distance, opposite of the mountains. A light?

I focused on it, bringing up my hands to form a square with the thumb and index finger of both hands. It brought clarity to the object of interest by blocking out other stimuli, someone had once told me. I had learnt that at –

_Where did I learn that? _I mused. That was a mystery I had to solve. But later, after I had found Elysia.

It was a pinprick of light. There! Another! Like a spring flower, the place suddenly bloomed with light. Their ghostly fingers reached out to the stars. _Vaultlights_, they were called. The holy beacons of Elysia that guided lost souls to Jovi's embrace. The priests often described them as pillars of awesome brilliance that climbed to the stars. They were right.

I scrambled down the slope, happily tumbling down at times, uncaring of the scrapes and bruises. I leapt over large rocks, sprinting joyfully across open stretches. I whooped in delight. Soon, I would see Jovi for myself! The great Jovi in person!

The lights shone on, beckoning to me.

But after a while, I realised that the lights were getting no closer. I stopped abruptly, panting slightly. At least my chest wasn't fouling up.

A clatter of falling stones rang out behind me, followed by the unmistakeable sound of footsteps. I turned around calmly. There was no danger in the afterlife.

I gaped in shock.

It was the priest. The High Priest of Bon Jovi stood before me, the man who had given me Jovi's amulet on that night. I wasn't sure what happened that night, but it seemed important. Or exciting. Both? I wasn't sure which.

His lips moved. "This isn't your time, Solas. Go back."

I stared at him.

"But – but I died," I replied lamely. "I didn't do anything wrong, did I?"

I suddenly remembered my past life.

Everything. A flood of questions clamoured to be voiced.

"I cannot answer any of your questions, Solas," the old priest said. "But I know this isn't your time."

He strode up to me, placing a hand on my heart. My chest burned. "Go back, Lister. There is hope yet."

He gave me a firm push, shoving me back.

Back over a cliff.

…...

I awoke to see a harsh yellow torch shining in my eyes. I squinted and groaned, shifting a little. I immediately regretted it. My stomach and chest were on fire.

"I told you it would work," commented a new voice, deep and baritone.

"Gah – alright, I owe you a favour," roughly snapped my torturer. "You will settle for some combat stims?"

"Add that to a new patient here and we're even. You seem to be mistreating this boy."

I bristled weakly at the word 'boy'. I didn't have the strength to object, however.

"Very well. This one's a weakling anyway – they all are, except for the feral worlders. I don't know why Lord Horus wants to recruit from any other worlds," the grotesque marine spat. "Back on Terra, we only recruited from the roughest of areas. I don't see why you Cthonians have to change that."

"Obviously for their technical dexterity, Kuras," the new marine smoothly replied. He had a different accent to my so-called 'surgeon', that Kuras fellow. It was slightly more mellow, less stiff when compared to the Terran way of chanting out sentences.

He continued. "Besides, they can always become fitter."

"Have you seen this one's med-chart? He's barely in this legion – literally and biologically!" I leaned slightly more towards him, hoping to hear more. Perhaps I could use to legitimately leave the Luna Wolves. But I was disappointed once more. "Very well, he is _your_ patient now. I am going to clean his blood off my armour."

I heard the man stomp out of the operating theatre, the door hissing open and shut. The new marine stood up and loomed over me. He didn't have a helmet. Instead, a bald pate reflected the harsh light of the operating theatre.

I wondered if he polished his head, just like we had to polish our boots.

"What's your name?" he asked.

I licked my lips, and after a few false starts I mumbled out, "Solas Lister. Uh – sir."

By Jovi, speaking _hurt_.

I always had trouble calling Legionnaires 'sir' or 'my lord'. It reeked of mindless toadying. You didn't need to fancy title to command respect. At least, that was how it worked on Sayre. The line of Tyrants had tried to change that. Ha! The fools. The last one – the one we had slain – ended up a sack of bloody offal for his troubles. Good riddance!

The man reached out with a needle. I shrank back instinctively.

"It's over," he said calmly. I felt a sharp prick in my arm as the syringe injected whatever it was into me.

For a moment, I considered running. But my body wouldn't respond properly. I resigned myself to the marine's care. He spoke abruptly.

"My name is Apothecary Reyedon. Please forgive Kuras for being rough, the man's a brilliant surgeon – just none too gentle about it," he said.

That Kuras was _rough?_ _Rough?_ That was like describing a pile of grox shit as having a 'bad smell'. Some words didn't cut it.

"Yeah, thanks...sir," I muttered.

Silence reigned for a few awkward minutes. Obviously, like nearly all marines, Apothecary Reyedon had forgotten his social skills in some gutter. I shifted slightly, gritting my teeth at the stabbing pains in my abdomen.

"Hey – sir, what was that about me being barely in the legion?" I asked hopefully.

The marine rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Your genetic compatibility is borderline," he said.

I didn't understand. "What's...um...gen-tick compatibility?" I asked, stumbling over the unfamiliar word.

"Don't you know? Your DNA sequence doesn't match up too well with our stock."

More gibberish. My head was starting to spin, from both the pain and the new concepts.

"What's a dee-en-ay sequence?" I asked gormlessly. "And what's your stock?"

Back on Sayre, stock referred to the grox cattle on the farms. But I doubted I was being turned into a grox.

Reyedon pulled out a piece of paper, and drew some squiggles onto it. He showed it to me – a pair of twisting lines that intersected at regular intervals. I had seen something like that at a lesson back at the orphanage, but then again, I probably wasn't paying attention. Then I remembered.

"Those are life-strings, right? Sir – yeah? The great Dar-vin discovered them," I exclaimed excitedly. It felt good to know something. Perhaps I should have paid more attention back on Sayre.

Perhaps if I had been smarter I would have had the brains not to go out on that fool-walk that fateful day. Perhaps I would still be on Sayre with Jane. But then again, that bastard Grevan might – would have come for us both. We both might be corpses if I hadn't been shot. I shook my head gingerly. Thinking about all the possibilities surrounding that cursed day sometimes kept me up all night.

"You could call them life-strings, yes. The Mechanicus designation is deoxyribose-nucleic acid," continued the apothecary. "And stock is gene-seed."

I scratched my head in confusion.

"Gene-seed is the basis of your nineteen implants that you will receive over these four years. Its name originates from one of the Emperor's most brilliant bio-mancers, a man named Boffat. It is in essence a seed, a totipotent array of cells that differentiate into nineteen separate organs."

I didn't understand any of that, but I got the gist of it. Reyedon ploughed on.

"This metaphor can be extended to these said organs. Each fruit is an organ, which ripens at different times and must be implanted at different stages. Already, you possess the Phase One and Two of your implants."

"What's that – sir?"

"Phase One consists of the Secondary Heart, Ossmodula and Biscopea. We normally implant these around the age of ten to twelve, but on you _experiments_ it has been proved that they can be inserted later. Now – the second heart's function is simple – increased blood flow. Your wounds heal fast, don't they?"

I nodded. Astartes training involved a great deal of cuts and bruises, but these faded away in a matter of days. Back on Sayre something like a cut from a knife would take a few weeks to heal. Such things were paltry matters now.

"Yes, double the rate of oxygen and nutrients, combined with a good diet gives us marines fast healing and great endurance. Do you know where it is located?"

"No," I replied. He shook his head in amazement.

"Feel the right side of your rib cage, beneath your pectorals – that's the muscles on your chest. It's located below the level of your first heart."

I couldn't feel a beat. This secondary heart must be hidden under the muscle and bone that covered that area.

"Why the hell is it there, sir?" I asked. What a stupid place to put it.

Despite the irritable tone of my voice, Reyedon seemed delighted to answer me. I began to suspect he was quite young for a marine. He didn't have that air of jaded, violent professionalism that my two sergeants had. I also wondered whether he had anyone to talk to.

"You're going to be tall, Initiate. Nearly two-and-a-half meters. You'll need something to pump the blood down to your legs. Also, to an alien – curse the scum, they won't know where your second heart is. Perhaps from dissecting normal humans they might know where a normal man's heart is, by what about a marine's?"

I nodded. That seemed to make sense.

"Now, the Ossmodula regulates bone growth. Its name stems from the High Gothic words for bone: _ossis_. In addition to lengthening your bones, it also replaces the relatively weak human bone compounds with a ceramite-based matrix. And power armour, as you well know, is made from ceramite."

He tapped his breastplate to emphasise his point. I listened on, comprehending one word in three. It seemed absurd, talking about these disgusting implants just after being cut up. But then again, it took my mind off the pain.

"You know why Apothecary Kuras didn't just cut straight into your ribs?" he said, eyes shining in excitement. I figured he enjoyed carving people up. "He couldn't! Your ribs have fused – joined into a solid mass of interlocking plates – impervious to standard munitions! Just like a shell."

A sudden image of turtle in power armour popped into my head.

"Your third Phase One implant is the Biscopea. Perhaps one of your most important implants, as it controls both your muscle growth _and_ your hormones. You do you what a hormone is, correct?"

I rubbed my chin, feeling the new growth on it. I didn't have these before my surgery. How long was I out?

"Um, they're the things that make boys like girls, yeah?" I ventured. There was a vague memory of a science lesson back at the orphanage covering this. I only remembered the day because of all the lewd comments made during that.

Good times, those. It felt absurd to be be thinking about them after what I had been through.

"You are correct, to a degree. Hormones also control nearly every aspects of your bio-mechanical functions. The Biscopea is one of the most complex of organs. Did you know the Emperor and his scientists spent nearly a year working on this marvel?"

I shook my head. The Emperor of Mankind was a distant figure, mentioned with great reverence but in little detail. Posters of him leading his armies to war were pasted all over the walls of the ship. My favourite was a pict-capture of the Emperor standing triumphant on a ruined statue, clad in a battered steel cuirass emblazoned with golden thunderbolts. He had his bolter raised to the lightning-strewn heavens, and beneath his mail-shod feet burned a tattered flag with blue and red stripes. Beneath were the words: _Such is the fate of our enemies!_

The Imperium was a glorious place, no doubt about it. I had torn one of those posters down to show to Jane when I got back to Sayre. It now lay at the bottom of my pack, waiting to be taken with me. Think of it as a souvenir. Reyedon's techno-babble snapped me back out of my reverie.

"Now Phase Two is more concerned with altering your body chemistry rather than structural changes. The Haemastamen – do you know where that word comes from?"

By Jovi, I didn't know anything! I stared at him, trying to not to move. My chest was hurting again.

"_Haem_, the High Gothic word for iron. Probably the taste of blood, yes – it does have a high iron content..."

He blathered on, delving into a litany of technical jargon which I didn't understand. High Gothic, I gathered, was a language used to make people feel stupid. I certainly did.

"...anyway, it enhances the oxygen capacity of your blood," he finally finished. "It's now an even brighter red. Would you like to see?"

He pulled out a small scalpel. I yelled in fright, nearly falling off my bed. The sudden movement made the pain explode from my chest. I stared at the instrument with unconcealed terror.

"Initiate, grow some balls," he said, smiling slightly.

"You're gonna cut me!" I exclaimed. The harrowing 'surgery' was still clear in my mind.

"You've already gone through two operations, boy. You ought to be used it," he snorted. "Trust me, this won't even hurt."

He slashed with the blade, too quick to see. I felt a slight sting on the back of my hand. The blood was a lurid red. Even as I watched, the wound staunched itself, filling with a whitish material. I poked it.

Jovi damn, I had a new scar!

What sort of magic was this?

"That brings me to my next point, your Larraman's Organ. Engineered by Arturios Larraman, another of the Emperor's leading scientists, this organ produces cells –"

I broke in. "What are cells?" I asked. That at least seemed a simple question.

Reyedon looked at me in horror. "You don't know what a _cell_ is? What on Terra have they been teaching you?"

"Eh – it's more like what I've been sleeping through – sir," I cheekily replied. He seemed the nice sort. I hoped I was right.

"We must rectify this! No man should linger in the pit of ignorance!" he proclaimed, waving his arms about. He pulled out a data-screen.

"This is a cell," he said, passing over the screen. I peered at it.

"Those are Dar-vin's little animalicules!" I exclaimed.

"Who's this Dar-vin fellow?" asked the marine curiously.

Ha! My turn to tell stories! I launched into it with a gusto.

"Dar-vin was a great explorer and warrior who lived on Old Earth. A great and noble man, he plied the seven seas in search of different life-strings to add to his treasure chest."

I paused for a moment to catch my breath. My chest was tight. The apothecary listened with an air of polite attention.

"Across the Pacified Ocean he fought, battling great armoured turtles and Ki-mo-no Drakes for their precious life-strings. His men fought with great valour, the great ape-men of Afurique."

I was eagerly reciting this childhood tale. I had no idea what a 'sea' or 'ocean' was. Apparently they were great bodies of water, many fathoms deep. Such things were nonsense, however. Sayre didn't have any of those. I recalled the ape-men in an old story book, the drawings of their hulking bodies and bearded faces still vividly clear.

"Dar-vin decided to go to the ice-fields of the deep south, but he could not feed his army of ape-men in that barren land. He released them on his foes and detractors in Britannicia, laughing merrily as they overturned their test-tubes and stole their life-strings. So he left Brittanicia forever, taking only food and his loyal guard dog Hucksly. His ship ran aground on a vast ice-shelf, but the great Dar-vin could not be denied. With a great shout he leapt into the freezing water, risking his life in those chill waters."

I stopped for moment, coughing a little. These stories had always conjured up fantastical images in my mind, something to fight the numbing boredom of the orphanage. I kept going.

"Oh, his voyage was an epic tale. Across the ice plains and under the Astral Lights, through whirling blizzards and treacherous ice-floes. He saved his loyal friend Hucksly from a kraken, and together with fought off the dreaded Pole Whales, vast creatures of the deep with steel spears on their heads. Finally, at the end of the world, he encountered his greatest enemy: Xan Da'kloss. For ten days and ten nights did they do battle, Dar-vin's living sword against the villian's mass-manufactured weaponry. Their battle shook the heavens, disrupting even Jovi's concert. Enraged, Jovi left Elysia – a thing unheard of – to confront the two fighters."

The marine nodded slowly. I could see that either he liked stories as much I did, or he was a very polite fellow. Probably the latter, but he seemed a decent guy.

"He watched the two – Dar-vin in his tattered armour radiating courage and nobility, against Xan Da'kloss in his blood-red livery who laughed manically as he flung the greatest weapons of humanity against the hapless Dar-vin. But at long last, the final gun of Xan Da'kloss' arsenal fell silent. The base moon fled and the coward stars hid their gaze as Xan Da'kloss walked forth to congratulate the exhausted Dar-vin. Dar-vin, being an honourable man, lowered his guard, despite the warning growls of an alert Hucksly. And that is how Dar-vin died, stabbed by the vile treachery of Xan Da'kloss even as they clasped hands."

My mouth twisted as I said this. The saga of Dar-vin had many tales, and this was the last of them.

"Jovi saw all of this. He was furious. From the cosmos came his wrath, smiting Xan Da'kloss deep into the darkest pits of hell. To this day he lies screaming on a rack, forced to listen to elevator music. To atone for his crimes, a falcon arrives each day to tear out his balls, yet each day they grow back for the falcon to castrate. And that is the final saga of the great Dar-vin."

There was a moment of silence as the story ended. The marine cleared his throat.

"That is a fascinating tale, Initiate," he said, looking at the chrono bolted on the wall. "Perhaps next time you can regale to me more tales of your world. But for now, do you have any more questions?"

_What else?_ I mused. Then I remembered.

"What the other apothecary fella mean by me being nearly not in this legion?" I asked, recalling their earlier conversation.

I hoped that for some reason they would find me unsuitable and send me home. That way it was legal. And I didn't run the risk of getting shot.

But as always, my hopes were crushed.

"Ah, now I can explain! Our Lord Horus has his own DNA sequence, as you can see here," Reyedon announced, tapping the data-screen. It showed a graphic of a spinning life-string.

"Everyone's DNA is different. _Our_ task is to ensure as much genetic modification occurs in your existing cells as possible, in order to create as close a match as possible with your organs. Add a few chromosomes, tweak a few genes – you'll be infertile in a few years due to the extra genetic material in you."

Most of his speech was nonsensical to my ears, but I heard the word 'infertile'.

By the holy blessed Guitar.

"Jovi damn, they're cutting off my orchids?" I blurted out. My hand automatically went down to shield my privates.

The marine grinned and shook his head.

"We don't need that baggage anyway. In the past, when there were no Astartes, it was said that many a beautiful woman could conquer a planet with just her mammary glands. Ha! Those times are _long_ gone, my friend. We're not cutting them off – they're just not going to function. Besides, your growth patterns follow the Luna Wolf model. You won't be rendered impotent until a few years time."

Brilliant, I suppose.

Not.

The marine went on. "Before you ask, the Luna Wolf model is characterised by massive bone growth and muscle development in the early stages, and then a sudden height increase later on. Sterility occurs during the late stages. I heard some other legions start – ha! – shooting blanks at their early stages, but not us."

I hadn't seen any other legions, but I had certainly heard of them. The War Hounds and Imperial Fists were quite prominent in our history lessons on the Terran Wars. Supposedly they were supposed to have their 'primarchs' – those gene-sons of the Emperor, but they had evidently gone on holiday.

Lucky bastards – literally.

Their mothers were rumoured to be test tubes down in the lower decks.

I realised that despite his good intentions, Reyedon was prone to dithering. I decided to subtly push him in the right direction. Any other way would result in his ceramite glove in my face.

"So ah, what's this got to do with my compatibility – sir?" I ventured.

That sure came out as smooth as a gravel road.

Luckily he didn't notice, finally answering my question. Just that it wasn't what I was hoping for.

"No, no – nothing is wrong. Your planet, Sayre, isn't it?" he asked, tapping on his screen. I nodded.

"High atmospheric pollutants, unacceptable radiation levels, toxic levels of heavy metals in the water," he said, reading off the screen. "The population of your planet has evolved to cope with these."

"Ain't that mutation?" I asked warily. Mutants were culled back on Sayre. Disgusting freaks.

"No. Your people are one-hundred percent compatible with _Homo sapiens imperialis_ – that means humans. Just that the unique genetic combination in you would make you a better Dusk Raider than a Luna Wolf. They show signs of such resilience as well. No matter, you are in acceptable parameters however."

His words bounced off stone cold ears. Another of my dreams quashed. I would have to bolt on Targren then. With a bitter feeling in my heart, I listened in on what Reyedon was saying.

"Psychologically speaking however, you are in peak condition. Not too many people in this galaxy would be able to hold a full conversation after nine months of Astartes training and two live surgeries."

_Gah, I wish I was a weakling then_, I thought vitriolically.

He kept going. "The Astartes recruit for psychological resilience; the ability to bounce back from the horrors of war. You can note that no one in your squad has too much trouble killing, and neither are they particularly scarred by their training."

_Was I really that much of a stone cold killer?_ I hoped not.

"I shall print out a copy of your planet's details, aye? Something to read on your way down," he abruptly announced, pressing a few buttons. A machine whirred as the information was printed onto paper.

The apothecary handed it to me, and I stared at it in dismay. High Gothic. It was worse than gibberish. My brain spluttered and died as I scanned the paper.

_Planetum...Sayre...unt...situatum...Help help help help help help help...I can't read this...Sayre...Help help help help help help..._

"I can't read," I said. I handed the sheaf of paper back to Reyedon. To my surprise, he gave them back.

"One day, Initiate Lister, you will realise how important it is to read. And on that day, these words on the paper will make sense," he remarked. "Now, can you stand?"

"I'll try," I gasped. Pain flared in my chest as I heaved myself up.

"Pain cleanses the mind," he intoned, quoting an old Terran adage. Sadistic idiots. No wonder the Ancients had left Terra.

I stood unsteadily on my own two feet. My chest throbbed steadily, but it was now bearable. I put on my belt and shoved the papers into the waistband of my pants. I gingerly pulled on my shirt. The apothecary handed me some vials.

"Pain-killers are these," he instructed, pointing to the green labelled vials. "Ingest when necessary."

"Yes – sir," I answered. They would be useful.

"And these are anti-hormonal agents," he continued, tapping the yellow coloured vials. "Ingest daily. Your new implants spike your testosterone levels dramatically at the start – we don't want you running off with local females or going on a rampage. And you would do well to shave that growth."

He was looking at my chin. I rubbed it again. I had a beard?

"All set, Initiate Lister?" he boomed, drawing back. I shoved the vials in my pockets in reply.

There was a slight pause for a moment. Then I remembered what I had to do.

"All set, sir," I shouted, feeling ridiculous. I winced mightily as I saluted him, knuckling my brow.

He nodded approvingly, a majestic dip of his shining head. He stuck out a hand suddenly. I took it hesitantly, expecting it to be crushed. I wasn't disappointed.

"I hope to see you again, Lister. Enjoy your first combat deployment!" he said, with a sardonic smile on his face. I mumbled a garbled 'thank you' as I hurried out the door.

Jovi damn, I think I made a new friend.

Another friend that I was going to abandon on my first combat deployment.

But it had better be the last.

**Hope you guys enjoyed that!**


	22. Targren IV: Arrival

**ClarkesLaw: Ha, thanks mate. I was wondering if the implantation was a little over the top, but you've got me relaxed now.**

**SomeoneElse: Thank you for your praise. And ah, the betting on the Horus Heresy! It's nearly 200 years away lol!**

**Alien26: Thanks man. So my spelling and grammar monolith awakens, huh? And di you get the Huxley part?**

**ClickaholicAnonymous: Yes, writing action will be fun to do after a nearly ten chapter siesta from it. I hope you'll enjoy it next chapter.**

**Soggy corpse, Retrebution-TheDarkAngel, Semp, cormalin: You guys flatter me, and I thank you for that. Please feel free to comment and critique. It really helps my writing if I get more opinions.**

We stayed around the Apothecarium for three days or so. We weren't allowed to see each other, but I managed to sneak out the Engineerium to grab some supplies for our escape. I hoped that Sky had done the same. After the third day, we were allowed to roam free.

On my way out of the Apothecarium I was curtly informed by a serf to report to the main hangar by 1600 hours. The big chrono on the wall said 1511 hours, so I had time to kill.

Another door opened, and Sky stumbled out. He had deep bags under his eyes and a haunted look about his face. I supposed I looked just as spry. He looked at me and raised three fingers – not a rude gesture for once, surprisingly.

"Three days, dude. Three stinking days were out!" he complained, voice hoarse and wheezing.

Jovi damn, three days? I felt a moment of panic, as if we had missed our mission to Targren. Then I remembered we were still travelling into the system. Thank the lucky stars for that.

"Let's get out," I coughed, not wanting to run into Helfort. The guilt would be too much to bear. We turned into a main walkway, filled with bustling crewmen and serfs.

My wound still throbbed and ached, and with the painkillers wearing off my entire chest had constricted and tightened. I wondered how we supposed to fight, let alone escape. Speaking of escaping...

"Ya know we're a lot bigger than normal people now, aye?" blurted Sky.

"Yeah, but not that much taller," I countered.

We had shot up of these months – the result of that infernal Biscopea or Ossmodula, I forget which. I stood slightly taller than a grown man, which was about 190 centimetres when Reyedon had measured me. It was really our girth that gave us away. Take for example, Skylan. He had broader shoulders than me, and when walking behind a full-grown man he was nearly half as wide as the guy in front. And this wasn't a stripling of a midshipman or a puny ship's officer. I was talking about those armsmen, hulking brutes trained to subdue disorderly or crazed crewmen daily. And next to women, forget it. We were easily twice as wide as them.

"Hey Sky, take off your armour and walk beside that man, can you?" I murmured to Sky. Before he started getting spooked – I certainly would, I hastily added, "To try blend in with normal people. Try slumping your shoulders a bit."

He nodded, pulling off his armour vest with a pained hiss. I watched as he sidled up next to the uniformed armsman, slouching and trying to look as small as possible. I winced inwardly at the looks we were getting, but I did my best to ignore them. And we deserved it – Skylan looked ridiculous. He pulled back, and I handed back his vest.

"Well, 'ow was it?" he demanded.

"That ain't gonna work, buddy. Just hope we don't get no bigger on Targren, so maybe we can pass as...I dunno, big men?" I replied.

He snorted irritably. "Do we look like 'em?" he asked.

We were passing the big view-decks of the ship, where all the warmth and life of the _Armageddon Knight_ was separated from the void by metres-thick glass. At least, I thought it was glass. You could see through it and peer at the spinning stars of the galaxy. Normally I would press my nose against the glass and gawp at the astral wonders flying by, as long as we weren't in the warp. All viewing ports were shut and locked during those frightful jumps. But for now, I wasn't interested in what was outside. My reflection looked back at me.

"Ya' think we look like grown men, Lister?" repeated Sky.

"Maybe..." I muttered, lost in thought.

A tired face stared at me from the glass. Stubble was sprouting from my cheeks, making me look older than I was. Gaunt cheekbones jutted out, yet the skin over it was healthier than it had been for my entire life. My brow was heavier than I remembered – whether that was from exhaustion or a product of that cursed geno-therapy, I didn't know. I remembered an old saying from back home: that adversity makes you older. And it really did.

With a little luck we could pass as very large men.

"Don't shave, Sky. It makes you look older."

"Gah, righto. And we'll dodge tha' 'air-cut, aye?"

"Yeah, we gotta look like normal people."

Appearances were another important thing. Initiates were required to shave their hair as soon as it touched their ears to ward off lice and filth. I found it odd to see some Legionnaires cavorting about with shoulder-length hair. Either they were power-armoured hypocrites, or the Emperor had made some anti-lice gland or organ to stick into them. Unfortunately for us, we were still prone to those little biting bastards; hence the regulation scalp cuts we had to endure. Just that the rest of the galaxy kept their hair decently long, so we had to endure the fleas and vermin.

"Just skip the barber, eh?" suggested Sky. "If we're late they'll 'ave no time."

The Imperial Army barber seconded to us was a near-senile man who wore a vacant smile that stretched from ear-to-ear. He went by the name Eckal, and had half a head. He had been head-shot while putting down a revolt in the lower decks, and was spending the rest of his life with a scrambled brain. Normally I would have felt a small pang of guilt for using this man like so, but not when my freedom was on the line.

I hesitated, scheming. "So...we'll turn up at the last minute...then Jevarn will have to take us with our hair."

"Good plan, dude. They'll ne'er know us coming, aye?" he laughed. We punched our fists together, an old self-congratulatory gesture from the slums of Feckulia.

We walked on for a while in an amiable silence. Freedom seemed...so _near_. So near I could touch it, then grab it with both hands and never let go.

"So you've got everything ready?" I asked eventually.

"Aye. All set fer' bustin' out," Skylan announced. "Go' all the gear and crap. Managed to git a few hundred Bullions or what-not, ought ta' be enough. Besides, we kin always kill 'em if they won't take us. Wha' bou' you?"

I grinned. I don't know how Skylan got that much money, but I didn't care. It was a lot, and more than I expected. Bullions were also the highest denomination of Imperial currency. Each Bullion was worth ten Crowns, and a Crown was worth ten Domes. Bullions were also made of pure gold, and at a pinch we could melt them down to sell if a world didn't take our money. Or, as Sky mentioned, we could always kill them and take their goods. Either way, we could be sure of our ability to get around.

I gave a small start, shaking my head. I was starting to think like Skylan! Like a backstreet murderer, or even a bloody Astartes...

_But the job needs to be done, right?_ I reasoned to myself. I pushed those timid thoughts to a dark corner of my mind. Home beckoned, and I needed to go back.

Whatever way possible.

"Eh, y'all right?" my friend asked. I noticed I was staring vacantly into the void. _Got to stay focused, Lister!_

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, Sky. I've hidden the extra gear in my pack. Just a few pistols and _lots_ of ammunition. Brought a few of those lightweight ponchos as well – they keep out the cold pretty well."

One of our life-fire exercises had been done in the ship's freezer, amid a forest of hanging carcasses. Needless to say, with Squad Blue's standard of aiming much of the _Armageddon Knight_'s meat stocks were lost that day. The ponchos had a dark foliage camouflage pattern on them – enough to fool any Targrenites, but for marines I wasn't too sure. I had wrapped the ammunition and additional bolt pistols in those ponchos to hide their outlines, and stuffed them into my pack. It was a small wonder that they all fit.

"You going back to Feckulia?" I asked him, business done.

"Maybe, Lister. P'raps ah' might. But ya' kin be a gun runner anywhere in this shit-hole of a galaxy. Everyone needs a druggist or a smuggler ta' cart their shifty bus'ness round. Ha! Bet even Old Earth, or Terra has some gangs runnin' about."

"That what you did back in Moonshine City?"

I had heard Skylan mention that particular place several times before. He spat on the polished floor.

"Aye, biggest cesspit you'll ever see. As fer' me, ah' mostly did drugging an' smugglin' – always business fer' that. Never 'ad no parents – was raised in a gang by a whelp master. Did lots a' beggin' and stealin' when ah' was a kid. Course, when ah' was 'bout eight we slit the basterd's throat and took his loot. Good bloody riddance."

He said it in such an off-hand manner that I even smiled. Looking back, I was lucky to live in an orphanage. I had seen the kids that lived in the slums of Ginas. They had more in common with rabid, cunning dogs than children.

Ha! If only I could've met the old Lister on Sayre. I was always griping about how boring the orphanage was, how bad the food was, and how useless the lessons were. I had never truly realised the comparative luxuries that I took for granted. Sure, the gruel was worse than sewage, but at least I didn't have to fight to the death for a rotten cabbage on the streets. My old opinions seemed...so childish now.

Perhaps I had grown up a little.

Sky coughed again, and continued. I guess the prospect of freedom had brought back a flood of old memories in him. It certainly did for me.

"Ah' liked smugglin' the best. A blast, that was, sneaking crap past guards and them inspectors. Did a bit of racketeerin' as well. Hell no, that was _the_ best! See, the 'igh-ups on Fecky didn't want no one gittin' a gun – so they made it illegal, yeah? That way only their guards 'ad guns. So one day, ah' come across this toy gun. Real like the ones the guards used. Ser what's a honest man gotta do? Ah' start knockin' on doors askin' fer protection munnie – ha! Worked a trick, but ah' 'ad ta knife a few idiots – and some of the local gangs. That, or ah' broke their necks. They break _real_ easy."

Probably why he was so good with his fists and knives, just not with guns or blades longer than a foot. I wasn't particularly repulsed by his actions – leave that to squeamish, so-called 'civilised' people like Sernax. You did what you could in a cruel galaxy. But one thing still irked me.

"Wait, how old were you when you did this?" I broke in.

"Eh? Twelve? An' yeah, 'fore ya start laughing and saying ah'm lyin' 'bout me numbers, _ah' can count_."

"You can count?" I mocked light-heartedly.

"Lister, only idiots need to read, but ya' gotta know how much someone's payin' you."

Seemed fair enough. Reading didn't seem to be much use anyway. It didn't appear to be very applicable or practical. You could see this in toilets. Toilets on Sayre and the Imperium's grand cans were very much the same. The male toilets were marked with a male figure, with the word 'male' in Sayrean Anglish Gothic or 'andros' in the Imperium's High Gothic. Likewise, female toilets were marked with a figure wearing a skirt with the word 'female' or 'gynes'. I had always found the skirt thing privately amusing. I had never seen a girl in a skirt. Doubtless they would fall on their rumps and be the laughing stock of the place if they did.

But back to the point, by the time my fool mind had deduced the word _an-dros_ spelt 'andros', and then taken the cosmic leap to translate that into the word 'male', I was already milking the snake or bombing the lake in the toilet marked with the skirt-less figure.

If you get my drift.

I prided myself in knowing my letters, but honestly, reading seemed rather useless. I picked up spoken words rather quickly, but had never bothered to learn the written bit. Plus I was a slow reader. I agreed with Sky in that respect.

"What else you do?" I queried. Feckulia seemed an interesting place. Just very dangerous.

"Not much. A few paid murders, but they were too risky. Ya' usually 'ad ta' kill some gang leader, an' ya' payer might just kill you dead when ya' done. Never did 'ave the stomach ta' go pimpin' or slavin' – hell, ah' knew what it's like to be a slave when ah' was a kid."

"Perhaps I'll come visit you one day, when this is all over," I suggested. I was going to miss Sky when we finally parted.

He shrugged. "Maybe, Lister. But in me line a' work ya' die easy. But hey, live fast, die young, and make a beautiful corpse, aye?"

I snorted in reply. I had yet to see a good looking corpse.

"P'raps ah'll come ta' see ya, hey? We'll split our munnie at the end, you git half, ah' git half. Fecky's right next to Say-er, we kin system-hop. Mebbe ya kin introduce me ta' what's-her-name, um..."

"Jane?" I suggested.

I laughed inwardly. I didn't know whether she would run away or shoot him at sight. Probably shoot him, considering her temper. I really missed her. Suddenly, I felt a pang of regret. I had been thinking of her less and less over the months. Her letter lay at the bottom of my pack. It hadn't been read for several weeks. But if everything went well, I would be seeing her face-to-face in a month or so.

"Yeah, her. She be a good person, aye?"

"The best girl in the galaxy," I announced proudly. She wasn't anything close to those holo 'adult' film stars so popular amongst love-lorn crewmen, but she had a heart of gold. And she loved me, so I hoped.

_No, she does! She has to!_ I was going back just for her. She was my beacon in the lonely void, the light that outshone all the stars and guided me safe home.

"Ah' don't doubt it, dude. P'raps one day ah'll decide to be a good man, and come live on Say-er wit' you. How ya' like that, us being neighbourly an' all? Ah'll look after yer' kids when yer out, and you do the same fer mine."

"Haha!" I laughed. "Uncle Skylan! You sound so damn old! Don't teach my kids swear words!"

"Pfft!" snorted Sky, as he affected a posh accent. "I, sir, am the paragon of virtue and civility...ah fuck it, ah' know when not ta' swear. Say, not in front of the Emprah', cus' ah'll git me balls and tongue cut off."

"That's right, Sky, you better watch out."

"Wanna fight?" That was Skylan's typical response when he knew he had lost an argument.

"You wish, buddy! Tell you what, to make it fair, I'll blindfold myself and tie my legs together. Sorry, it's not really enough to give you a chance, is it?" I shot back.

"Gah, ya too puny ta' fight, anyway," he laughed. "So what 'bout you, eh? What you gonna do after this she-bang?"

"Me? I dunno, was hoping to be a rogue trader or something," I said ruefully. "Always wanted to go to space."

"Well ya in space right now, ya dumb lummox."

"Not the way I imagined. Never expected to be stuck here."

In my days on Sayre, I had many, many crazy aspirations. Most of them involved me being a dashing rogue trader and rescuing beautiful maidens from space dungeons. I certainly never thought I would be conscripted into the Luna Wolves and turned into a demigod.

"Wha' did ya' expect then?"

"Dunno, man. We were having a revolution, and Jane and me were fighting in it. She wanted to be a teacher or mistress for orphans – you know give something back to the next lot of poor castaways. We had a a lot of them, yeah, I was one."

"Wait, ya mean be a tard ta' the next lot fer revenge? Ain't tha' a bit low?"

Sometimes I thought Skylan was a bit dim. But then again, intelligence wasn't only measured by the size of your brain. He was better at other things.

"Yeah, of course – right. _No_, buddy, that was sarcasm. I meant she wanted to be good to the next lot, you know, give them a parent and all."

"Ah yeah. Wait, with her being nursemaid and you being a space-man, tha' means you two woulda parted eventually, aye?"

That was a sobering thought. I had never really considered that back home. Now I understood why Jane had begged me to stay on that night. Could I really have left her if I hadn't been shot?

Ironically, I was glad of the fact that I never had to make the choice.

"I...guess," I ventured reluctantly. Saying it felt like treason to Jane.

"Ser why don't ya' come with me instead? Ah'm a smuggler, and you'll be starship-captain Lister from all the money we 'ave. Ha! With a ship, we kin go anywhere, any time. Don't tha' sound good? We'll be dead rich too, drownin' in money."

"More likely dead," I interrupted. "Haven't you seen the punishments?"

Torture followed by capital punishment was the Imperium's one and only response to smuggling. The torture I had never seen, but we had been forced to watch a quartering as part of our 'education' on the laws of the Imperium. It was a repulsive sight, with the unfortunate smuggler being slowly pulled apart by four servitors in a macabre game of tug-of-war. The man was the rope.

"Aw comon, it ain't wrong if ya don't git caught!" he protested. That was my way of thinking too, but I didn't feel like being drawn and quartered.

"Buddy, I want to go back to her. I've had enough adventure here," I waved around at the ship. "To last a lifetime. Who knows, I might be a family man after all."

"One Lister's enough dude," he admonished jokingly.

"Nah Sky, you're just jealous. Just cus' you can't get the ladies."

The conversation dissolved into mocking each other's prowess and staying power, as well as how many flavours of the clap we both had. After we were done we walked on in amiable silence for a while until Sky noticed the time.

"'Ey, its nearly time – let's git goin'."

I looked a nearby chrono – those things were all over the ship. It was obvious that punctuality was the lifeblood of His Imperial Majesty's Army. I had no idea why everything was called the Imperial Army; we were on a space ship after all.

With just five minutes to go, we hurried as best we could through the winding passages of the battle barge. We bumped and shouldered our way through the crowd, using both our size and rank to clear the way. I swore as I bowled over an unfortunate crewman.

"Sorry buddy, gotta catch my flight!" I yelled into the man's ear as I hauled him to his feet. I pelted off before I heard what he was saying.

We stopped at the large entrance of the hangar, and Sky grabbed my arm fiercely.

"What?" I asked, perplexed. He looked me in the eye with deadly intent.

"Ya' sure we're doin' this? No chickening out, aye? Once we git on that ship, there's ain't no turnin' back."

"Aye – I want out as much as you do," I answered instantly.

"Shake on it, bra," he said, sticking out his hand. I took his hand firmly.

Then I realised what he had just said.

"What you just call me?" I asked with a slightly hysterical note in my voice. No orphan ever had siblings.

"Ah' called ya bra, Lister – we're brothers in crime now. We ain't battle-brothers or whatever shit the Imperium wants us ta' be – naw, we're family now. Ya've bin' wit' me so far. Savvy?"

"Aye...savvy, bro," I choked. He clapped me on the shoulder affably, and set off.

I felt a lump form in my throat as we ran to our ship, a feeling of unbearable contentment in my heart. I had a brother! A brother!

…...

We had timed our entrance just right – we leapt into the bulky transport just as it was taking off. Sergeant Jevarn glared jadedly at our shaggy hair, but didn't say anything. There were other squads of initiates in the other compartments, and besides, he was probably inured to our incompetence by now. The bare metal box that we were trapped in was flooded with red light, and it shuddered and bounced violently as the shuttle made its way to the _Moonsword_. I gratefully took a hold on a strap dangling from above, and hung on for dear life.

Skylan took his place further down the compartment, as there was no room next to me. I spotted Helfort, who had his eyes closed and looked decidedly green. Sernax swayed and jerked with the ship, while Yumec was chanting some dirge. Mogas – or was that Harog or Argeh? I couldn't tell in the blood-tinged light, but they were prone on the floor. Jevarn would give them a good belting at the end.

"Your gear is over there, Initiate Lister!" yelled Jevarn over the din of the screaming engines.

I peered at the corner where he was pointing. Our packs and bolters lay in separate piles. Obviously our quarters had been emptied; and better still, our stuff hadn't been searched. I touched by brow in thanks, but Jevarn wasn't looking. Despite the fearful juddering, he stood stock-still as he tossed bundles of things at us. One landed at my feet, a tangle of pouches and wrapped around camouflage-patterned cloth.

I snatched it up with one hand, nearly losing my grip on the strap and bruising my knuckles against the steel mesh of the floor in the process. I swore as the ship bucked violently, and felt the rumbling shudder of powerful thrusters firing through my legs. I clutched the bundle to my chest and grimly held on with one hand.

_BOOM!_

The shock ran through my entire body, sending me to my knees. To my credit all of my squad fell as well, apart from the guy who was already on the floor. I swore as a jolt of pain lanced through my chest, as well as from my battered knees. A clipped voice suddenly rang out from the speakers.

"Thank you for flying with the Second Expeditionary Fleet today. We trust that all items, excrement and _vomitus_ will be removed along with your persons. Long be the Emperor's reign."

Those snide _bastards_.

…...

We unsteadily unloaded our gear and dumped it unceremoniously on the deck of the hangar on rubbery legs. It was vast space, the roof easily more than twenty metres high, with big steel cables and pincers dangling down. The other squads assembled further away from us, and in the distance I saw four black ships being prepared for flight. The crewmen around it were – were spraying it? What in the galaxy were they doing?

Our former transports took off, and soon as they left the hangar I felt the ground tremble a little as the _Moonsword's_ engines were fired.

Sergeant Jevarn was busy haranguing Mogas – the fellow who had fallen over on the transport. One hundred push-ups in full armour as well as the pack, that was the sergeant's typical punishment. I smiled a little as I heard Jevarn counting for the poor guy, since Mogas couldn't count for himself.

"Thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six – quicker you lazy dog!" our sergeant howled. I felt a touch of sympathy for Mogas. His still-healing wounds must be excruciating.

"How was thy torture?" Helfort walked up to me with a smile. I had to turn around for a second to hide my guilty expression.

"Worse than torture," I said, turning back.

"Aye, sirrah, it was a dire act of the most wanton cruelty," he laughed, still smiling. I stared back at him.

"Helfort, you haven't been drinking, right?" I asked. He seemed too cheerful for our situation.

"Nay, friend. Today, with sword and fire, we shall conquer all the realms of this pitiful kingdom!" he exclaimed jovially.

"You mean planet?" I asked.

"Yes! This Targren we shalt soon assege!"

"What? Um – never mind..." I trailed off. Sometimes I got sick of asking him what half his misbegotten words meant. I felt rather stupid afterwards.

Luckily, Jevarn rescued me. With a stentorian roar he brought the squad to heel. We formed in a rough line in front of him.

"Squad, ATTENTION!_"_

We awkwardly stamped into the 'attention' stance, feet together and our arms to our sides. This brand of idiocy was new to me – back in the Tyrant's PDS we were considered expendable and were never taught any of this 'drill'.

"Alright, that was atrocious, two hundred push-ups for any of you that make it back alive after the mission. Squad, at ease!"

I felt a moment's panic as I forgot what to do.

_Turn left, and walk away? No, march! What?_ I debated with myself. In the end I peeked at what the others were doing. Stand with your feet apart and your hands behind your back? That was easy. I hurriedly copied them.

"This is your first mission in the service of his Imperial Majesty. Doubtless, it will be your last for some of you."

Jevarn really couldn't make inspiring speeches.

"But remember, no man who died in the Emperor's service died in vain."

Yeah, yeah. That was one of the most common saying amongst the Imperium after 'For the Emperor'.

"Now, to business. Each of you have received your camouflage fatigues and combat webbing. Put them on now, as well as your other effects."

We moved to the big pile of packs and weapons to find our own. I hauled my stuff out of the mess, and picked up my bolter. I quickly stripped to my underwear and pulled on the stiff new fatigues, leaving my initiate's uniform in another pile to be picked up. On went my black armour, straps going through buckles and clips a-clacking. Piece-by-piece my ceramite _spaulders_ were strapped securely on, overlapping pieces of armour that protected my shoulders. I clipped and strapped on my _tassets_, which were also overlapping plates of ceramite that covered my thighs, as well as the ever-important groin-plate.

I had Helfort to thank for knowing the names of all these bits of armour. Incidentally, High Gothic words such as _spaulder_ and _tasset_ were exactly the same as the names used on his home world of Hibernia.

I cinched Jane's belt onto my waist as a good-luck charm. I had removed the small pouches, as otherwise the webbing wouldn't fit. Cursing silently, I untangled my webbing and hung it up in front of me. Imagine a belt with shoulder straps and additional rigging attached, and the rough material coloured foliage green. Two large rectangular pouches sat at the front to hold bolter ammunition. Two canteens sat in their respective canteen cups, which could be used for cooking. The two big bottles and their cups sat in moulded pouches near the back of my armour. At the very back of my belt was a large 'bum-bag', intended to carry food and additional ammunition. Suspended at the back of my shoulder straps was a flat pouch that conformed with the shape of my back – that was another water container with an extendible tube from which I could suck water.

I threw the whole lot over my shoulders and fastened the buckle at the centre. Very handy, it was. I barely felt the weight of the equipment. I checked that everything was there – it was, because I had packed it last week and checked it again every day. I attached the holster containing Jane's pistol onto my webbing on my left side, and strapped my combat knife and its sheath to my right. I was supposed to have a bolt pistol was my sidearm, but frankly, I didn't care. I pulled on my gloves, tough black things with their fingers cut off for extra dexterity. On went my boots, and the so-called 'blousing' to keep any questing insects out. Last of all I put on my helmet, inhaling the smell of the sweat-stained padding inside.

I jumped up and down, making sure my entire ensemble didn't give away any unwanted noise when I moved. It didn't. I noted with some pride that the process of putting everything on had taken only two minutes. I guess I had practised well.

Now dressed to kill, I turned back to regard Squad Blue. Skylan stood vacantly cradling a squat shotgun, a devil of a weapon that blasted a wide cone of destruction into whatever was in the way. Perfect for him, considering his atrocious aiming. Mogas and Harog also carried similar guns. Helfort and Argeh had bolt pistols and chainswords – their job was to sneak up on the enemy before dicing them to little pieces. Like me, Yumec had a bolter. Sernax was hauling around a scaled-down version of a Legionnaire's heavy bolter, with large ammo drums strapped to his back. I didn't envy the weight he was carrying. His job was to fill the air with bolt rounds when the shooting started and to cover our approach.

"Lister! Sayre, yes?" suddenly demanded Jevarn from behind me.

"Yes sergeant," I replied. For some reason, Jevarn detested the nickname 'sarge', and from the numerous punishments he doled out we eagerly obliged him.

"Take this. You're vox-man."

_By Jovi, no! _That radio – I mean vox thing was damn _heavy_.

"How am I supposed to carry this and my pack – sergeant?" I objected.

"In your hands, boy. You aren't going to be wearing your pack when you fight, young fool. We'll leave them in a secure location. Now be off!"

With a curt gesture he stalked off to Yumec. That lucky feral worlder got a scope for his troubles. Jevarn had just designated him squad sniper.

_Some god must love him,_ I groused mutely.

I reluctantly pulled on the vox caster, and fed the audio plug beneath my fatigues and into an ear. I checked the handset was in its box on the side, which was only taken out when the area was secure.

Otherwise, the speaker might suddenly start squawking while we were sneaking about. And that wouldn't be good for our health.

"All set, Squad Blue?" snapped the sergeant. "My dead grand-mam could do better!"

_I bet your dead grand-mam looks better than you,_ I thought irritably.

"Who can count here?" Jevarn demanded. Only Sky, Sernax, Mogas and I put up our hands.

"Useless brats," groused our sergeant, handing out grenades to the four of us. I got three; cylindrical hand-bombs with a seven-second timer when the pin was removed. You needed to be able to count to use these safely.

"Now, all ready?"

We shuffled and nodded, and Jevarn led us to one of the black transports. On the way we passed the other initiates, and Helfort nudged me in the arm.

"Look, sirrah, just wee babes!" he whispered, pointing at the others.

I looked at the other squads. By Jovi, they were children! But children with the bodies of grown men! It was a disturbing sight, seeing a beardless, guileless head perched atop a mountain of corded muscle and sinew.

"Shit bra, they're baby-face soldiers!" exclaimed Skylan tactlessly.

They in turn stared back at us, obviously wondering why were so old. Upon hearing Sky's comment they scowled and cracked their knuckles. I fought back the urge to laugh. Seeing a twelve year old's face twist in anger was a laughable sight, bur their boosted bodies were a different matter. We managed to walk past them without incident, though I was revving for a fight.

I didn't know why. I just felt the urge to hit something suddenly.

"All set, midshipman?" asked Jevarn him as we approached one of the transports.

I realised it was just a black Aquila lander covered in ice. So that's what they were spraying on! A man with an ice hose stood by, idle.

The midshipman turned around. He was a she. And a rather good-looking she to boot, but she wasn't much next to Jane. I felt an elbow jab the side of my vest.

"Bah' Toorett dude, look'it 'elfort!" whispered Sky, grinning widely.

I glanced at Helfort and snorted. His jaw was somewhere next to his boots, and he was practically drooling.

He finally noticed us staring. "A fiendish crime now, is it, to admire maidens beauteous fair?" he hissed indignantly.

Sky and I began sniggering quietly. The midshipman – or woman luckily was still oblivious, busy finalising the arrangements with Jevarn.

"It's a only crime if ya git caught starin', dude! Look like you're gonna git busted by the way ya look at 'er!" Sky teased.

"Softly now, buffoon! Loose thine tongue softly, lest thine foulest breath reacheth the fair maiden's ears!" snarled Helfort, alarm clear in his voice.

"Wot? What ya' sayin'?" Sky really enjoyed ribbing Helfort. I found it funny too.

"Silence, churl!"

"Eh, dude?"

"Hibern curse you!"

"'Elfort and Army-chick sittin' in a tree, K – I...er, Lister, how you spell it?"

I decided to have a little fun of my own. I strained my mind to recall my spelling lessons.

"Yeah, it spells K – I – C – K – I – N – G S – K – Y – S B – A – L – L – S."

I heard Sernax stifle a laugh.

"Cheers, bra. Knew ah' could rely on you." He cheerily went on to repeat what I had just said.

I looked at Sernax, and he looked back. We both gave slow shrugs to each other, grinning stupidly. Neither Helfort nor Skylan got the joke.

"Pile in, Squad Blue! The Crusade waits for no man!" barked Jevarn, turning back to us. Helfort's girl – or prospective girl – opened the hatch and climbed in.

In we went.

…...

I was trapped in a cramped cargo bay, uncomfortably wedged in between Helfort and Sernax on a bench. Sky sat opposite me, fiddling with his shotgun. A steel door at the end led to the cockpit, which promptly opened as the midshipman entered. I heard a faint hissing sound as the ice hose covered the cargo door with frost, and the cargo bay was again flooded with emergency red light.

"Take off in three, two, one – mark," our pilot announced flatly over the speakers.

There was an almighty jerk as the Aquila lander heaved its bulk off the hangar floor. I swore as I slipped off the bench, and pulled myself back up red-faced and embarrassed. Helfort's girl didn't miss a step.

"Ah my lord, may I brief your, ah...men on the flight, or do you have something to say first?" Her voice was high and fluting, and a little constricted from what appeared to be nerves.

I didn't blame her. She _was_ trapped in between two rows of sweating guys toting oversized guns, several of which were visibly ogling her with their eyes. I tried not to look at anywhere...inappropriate, out of loyalty to Jane, but like any hot-blooded male I looked her over.

She wore the ubiquitous black jumpsuit of Imperial Army crewmen, and from her waist dangled a chrome edged autopistol. Her auburn hair was pulled back severely into a bun, the regulation hair-do for women serving in the Emperor's naval services. Normally, I found this hairstyle unattractive, but with her delicate face it was quite fetching. I couldn't quite make out the colour of her eyes in the chaotic emergency lighting, but I think they were some shade of brown.

"Nay miss, ladies first," Jevarn replied with a gentlemanly air.

"Yessir, thank you sir." She turned to address us, and I felt Helfort squirm. "Ah, Squad Blue, as you obviously know you are en-route to Targren Four in a stealth insertion..."

She trailed off nervously. I suddenly realised she was quite young, almost conveniently our age. Helfort's chances were getting better. Just that he had to learn how to speak properly...

"Go on, miss. My boys won't bite, they're too block-headed for that," our kind sergeant said magnanimously. The ship jolted, and the bay erupted in a fit of cursing.

"Yes, sergeant. Um...our descent will take at least half an hour, depending on atmospheric conditions." Her voice gained in confidence as she got back into familiar territory. "As befitting a stealth mission we will gently float down into the planet's atmosphere on our primary thrusters. This manoeuvre is known as the Floating Leaf. With our Aquila's outer shell of ice and blacked-out surfaces, chances of a successful insertion range from eighty to ninety percent. At least, they should be able to defeat any sensors."

So that was the purpose of the ice and black paint. I heard Sky snigger at the word 'insertion'.

Jovi damn, my new brother might be a hardened criminal, but really...

"So er, are there any questions?" she tentatively finished.

Sernax's hand shot up. Jevarn nodded to him, and he saluted.

"Ma'am, how did we get to the planet so quickly?" he asked.

Her brow arched. "Did you not hear the _Moonsword's_ engines? She's sitting on the dark side of one of the planet's moons."

"Haha! Old Sernax here was too busy throwing up!" sniggered Mogas. The cargo bay dissolved into peals of laughter. The sergeant shot a vitriolic glare at us, and we shut up at once.

"Any others?" Her gaze quested about the stuffy bay, looking at each of us. Yumec raised a hand, and Jevarn made a gesture of consent. He saluted in response.

"How are you sure...this iron – sky beast...will still fly?" he asked haltingly. His Gothic was getting better though, I had to admit. The Aquila gave a low grumble to accentuate his point.

This time it was the sergeant who answered.

"Because it will," he growled curtly.

"Yes, yes, the Aquila lander is a newly rediscovered STC design dating back to the Dark Age of Technology," the midshipman – or woman agreed. "The Machine Spirit won't let us down. So...are we done?"

Sky stuck a hand up this time, the other scratching his arse. Jevarn seemed to hesitate, then nodded once, reluctantly. The sergeant got a cheery thumbs-up for his troubles.

"Ser' miss," Sky drawled languidly. "Ya' accept geneseed donations?"

By Jovi...

The cargo bay erupted in a fresh frenzy of mirth. Helfort looked ready to kill Sky. Our blushing midshipman was hurriedly ushered out by the sergeant. He turned around with a thunderous expression on his face.

"Three hundred push-ups, all of you! Full gear on! Move, you fools!" he roared with a vengeance.

…...

Arms and chests aching, we settled back down down on the metal benches. Skylan grinned apishly at me from the other side of the bay. I mouthed a 'I'm gonna kill you' in reply. He picked his nose in reply.

"Alright you pack of idiots, listen up," snapped the sergeant, obviously still furious at us. He placed a small metal box on the ground, evidently magnetic as it was still even as the floor shook. A blue-tinged hologram of the planet Targren floated in the middle of the cargo bay.

"We will be landing here," he said, pointing to a dark area on the southern hemisphere. "Target area is temperate in climate, and heavily forested."

He tapped a button, and a red spot began to flash near where he was pointing. "Locals call this city Libertine. Our mission is to gather intelligence and pinpoint possible threats for the impending invasion."

Helfort put up a hand. Jevarn acknowledged him with a grunt.

"We will fight, milord?" he asked respectfully.

"Sabotage comes later, once we have assessed our enemy's capabilities. Remember this: with human colonies, never underestimate their ability to wage war. As befitting the strongest species in the galaxy, your fellow man will resist you, with the humble wooden club or with the most terrible Old Tech weaponry imaginable. Yes, that is how humanity still exists! That is why we _must_ bring all of mankind back into the fold of the Imperium. Imagine, a united mankind! A unified army of the Emperor's that smashes aside all pissant xenos with an armoured fist of vengeance! What a glorious thought!"

His eyes alight with a zealous fervour, Jevarn continued our mission details.

"Our mission parameters are that of controlled destruction. We will be required to exterminate the entirety of the Targrenite military presence, but _no civilian rampages_. The Imperium is here to win the love of Targren's conquered people, not to earn their hate. That goes especially for you, Initiates Lister and Skylan."

The sergeant was referring to my jumpiness with the trigger. If I saw something move in the training ground, I would shoot it. And because of my fairly decent eye, I usually hit whatever I shot at – be it a plaster cut-out of a civilian or a combat servitor. As for Skylan, his awful aim meant that everybody around him was in danger when he started pulling the trigger. Honestly, if I were the sergeant, I would have given Sky two chainswords as a safety precaution.

"Isn't that the callous murder of innocents who are unwilling to fight us?" objected Sernax, ever the moralist. I rolled my eyes. Kill or be killed, that was how the galaxy worked.

"Initiate Sernax, your opinion is immaterial," was the sergeant's taciturn dismissal.

"But sir, that's akin to genocide!" an indignant Sernax protested.

Jevarn wheeled abruptly, a vein throbbing in his forehead.

"Genocide? No, this is not genocide. That is reserved for xenos. Mountains upon mountains of alien corpses, _glorious_. But here, what we wage is simply war."

"But..."

"BE SILENT! Such talk is treason against the Imperium!."

Needless to say, Sernax finally clammed up. I noticed some of my squad mates shaking their heads in disapproval. I secretly agreed. Why waste tears on people you don't know? Sernax came from a very odd place. The engines seemed to growl louder, as if in agreement.

"Now you may be wondering why we are using camouflage when our power-armoured brethren do not. Anyone want to hazard a guess?"

No one wanted to.

"Camouflage is not the colour of cowardice – only a fool would say that. But against xenos, it is nigh-useless. Why? Because we know not their capabilities. And also..." His face twisted in disgust. "Most of them possess _extra_ abilities. Sonar. Infra-red or ultra-violet vision. And with the warp-touched varieties such as the Eldar, you might as well wear bright pink as camouflage. Useless."

I think the question was what sort of self-respecting male – let alone Astartes would wear bright pink on their armour.

"So why use it? With humans, yes it is acceptable, just as long as they do not possess motion sensors or infra-red locators. Orks as well, as their senses are slightly inferior to ours. You see, camouflage is a tool that you must use when appropriate, not all the time. Let this be a lesson to you. Now behave, I am going to discuss things with the pilots."

The sergeant clambered out of the cargo bay.

"How wouldst thou woo that fair lady?" asked Helfort guilelessly, suddenly changing the subject.

"Hrm, not too sure. Girls are all different, you see..."

"I recall thou spoke of thy own maiden once."

"Yeah, Jane. But we just came together, like that." I snapped my fingers.

I honestly didn't know why she liked me so. Whether she truly loved me or because I was the only fellow on the block, I wasn't too sure now.

_Wait, there was also Sammo!_ I reminded myself brightly. Ha! So she did like me. She picked me over him. I wondered how the old blighter was doing, and whether he had finally become a mechanic like he had once said.

"How dost thou court a woman so? A glorious serenade? Or did thou valiantly wrest her from the clutches of some woe-begotten monster?"

I remembered Grevan, that mangy dog. "Yeah, we both sorta wrested each other from a monster's embrace." I shuddered. I could imagine nothing fouler.

"Then did thou begin?"

I wracked my brains for an answer, but Sky had to add his bit.

"Ya say: hey angel, you're smokin' hot! What's ya vox-code? And wanna make some babies with me?"

"Yeah – that's how you get them to run away screaming," interrupted Mogas.

"Ya ever 'eard a' _sarcasm_, dude?" Sky retorted.

"Give them flowers," was Yumec's suggestion.

I finally had to give up. I really had no idea how Jane and I got together. Jovi's will, I guess.

"I heard you're supposed to introduce yourself, compliment them, then hopefully she'll return the favour," suggested Sernax. I figured that would work.

"That...is good idea. And no flowers on this iron beast," admitted Yumec. The rest of the squad – other than Argeh and Harog who didn't know Gothic – gave a chorus of assent.

I suddenly felt a strong sense of fellowship with my squad mates – we were banding together to help out one of our own. With some regret I reminded myself that I couldn't get too close. I had to leave.

"Alright Helfort, let's work on some opening lines. What would you say first thing up?" asked Sernax, now our resident expert on the fairer sex.

"Beautiful maiden, I entreat thee to accept mine suit," said Helfort.

"Ah..." it escape my lips before I could stop myself.

"Um..." was Mogas' eloquent comment.

"Fuck man! Gothic! Speak it!" exclaimed Skylan.

"Hmmm...thy beauty eclipses that of fair Venus herself?" tried our medieval friend. Helfort was many things, but he wasn't one to give up.

"Great Earth Mother...we have work to do," sighed Yumec.

"Alright, how 'bout a simple, 'Hi, my names Jyon Helfort, what's yours?'" I ventured.

"A bit plain, Lister," Sernax remarked.

"How would you do it?" I challenged.

"Well, how about Helfort say something nice about about her. In Gothic, mind," he mused. "Try saying something nice about the eyes."

"Well, that's alright, but –" I began, but was cut off.

"Landing in T minus one minute," came the sergeant's voice over the speakers. Klaxons began to howl. Moments later Jevarn and the midshipman burst into the cargo bay.

"Get your gear and move to ship out!" he shouted gleefully. "Your first mission awaits!"

In a swift instant my webbing was on and secure, and the vox caster was on my back. I took hold of my bolter, gripping it fiercely, feeling the nerves.

_You might die here,_ some doubtful voice in my head remarked. I angrily quashed the thought. Freedom awaited.

Helfort gripped my arm urgently. "I must speak to her! What must I say?" he hissed.

"Hi, my name's Jyon Helfort, what's yours?" I repeated. I considered giving him more advice, but he probably would repeat the entire thing to her accidentally in his panic.

He took a deep, shuddering breath. He marched resolutely up to her. She turned to face him, and I heard his words through all the din. His first proper Gothic sentence.

"Hi, my name is Jyon Helfort, what is your name?" he asked, voice shaking just a little.

She gave him a brilliant smile. "Midshipman Klara Ryne, pleased to meet you," she said, almost shyly.

Helfort's mouth opened and closed silently, like a shocked goldfish. I resisted the urge to groan. He had run out of lines.

"Landing in T minus five seconds!"

He ran back to the bench next to me, a crazy smile on his lips.

"Three, two one, BRACE!"

We staggered as the cargo bay reverberated with a titanic _boom_. The cargo door slammed down, revealing the night outside. I smelt rich soil, and something else. Something foreign. The red lights turned to green.

"Go, go, go!" yelled Jevarn, as he leapt out of the ship.

We pounded down the ramp.

I saw Helfort wave at Mishsipman Ryne, and her waving back.

I saw Skylan give me an exultant smile. '_Freedom, soon!'_ his eyes seemed to say.

Then my boots touched the damp loam of the forest, and we were away.

**Alright, that's the chapter. If there are grammar errors, could you guys quote them for me? I'll fix them ASAP. **

**Some among you might be wondering why I choose to write about such trivial things. I know, they aren't important to the story, but what sort of normal person doesn't talk about such things? I hope you guys like it.**

**BTW, I went back to the start and noticed my opening chapters were extremely short. So what should I do? Do you guys want them as they are, or should I lengthen them?**


	23. Targren IV: The first in His service

**O'Shovah: Good luck on your exams man. They're probably over for you now, but I hope you did well. I'm glad you liked the dropship scene. Dan Abnett is a good author, isn't he? As for violence, please read on...**

**Alien26: Thanks, I took your advice and didn't alter the first few chapters. 'Andras' and 'Gyne' (or some variant) is Greek for man and woman respectively. The name Andrew means 'a man'. I don't why its so popular lol.**

**Soggy corpse: Hey there! Whew, no big glaring errors. Let's hope I don't make more here. And this story is detailing the life of a marine – to answer your question.**

**Sammy Holzbein: Thanks for the add! Leave any comments if you like.**

**ClickaholicAnonymous: Thanks man – I'll try to keep my standards up. His vox-caster is one of those big-ass backpack style ones.**

**Dal: Haha lol.**

**Author's note: More than 50 reviews! Thank you all who have reviewed and critiqued. You guys/girls (I wonder if girls read this?) have helped me a lot. PS, my action scene writing might not be up to scratch. I'm really rusty. Also, I retconned the last chapter so they actually have time to gather their goodies. Sorry about that. Oh and MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR. **

"Move out," hissed Jevarn, slithering into the dark undergrowth. A wraith, he was. Not a sound could be heard from him, even with that crate he was carrying.

I caught Helfort looking wistfully back at the clearing where the Aquila had dropped us, then taken off. No doubt that Klara was on his mind. I clapped him silently on the shoulder in understanding. I knew what it felt like to leave a girl.

His teeth flashed white in the gloom in a wistful smile. Ahead, the rest of the squad slipped and stumbled as quietly as they could through the murky forest. Only faded starlight lit their path. I followed in turn, following Sky's dim form with leaves a-crackling under my feet with Helfort behind me. I winced inwardly. We sounded like a herd of grox stampeding in the oppressive silence. In addition to the vox caster on my back I was also lugging my own pack in my hands.

"Psst! Sergeant, we are we moving?" asked Sernax, trying to keep his voice down but failing. His voice floated across to me from somewhere further up the line. By my reckoning that was about fifty metres distant.

_By Jovi, I might get lost!_ I felt a moment's fright as I imagined my fate. Abandoned, starving, stumbling about in a wilderness alien to me. I looked up at the looming silhouettes of the trees towering over me. It was all too easy to think they were hemming you in to crush you. I shuddered at the thought.

"Halt," I heard the sergeant murmur. The forest became still again as the squad stopped. I began to crouch, all too aware of the bulky vox-caster on my back. I readied my bolter with a gulp.

But it was all for nought. I heard the slightest of rustles as Jevarn's massive form suddenly appeared in front of me. He wore a larger version of an initiate's armour, but he looked every bit a full space marine that he was.

"Forty metres ahead there is a small clearing. Go there _quietly_ and await further orders," he breathed to me. He moved on to pass the message to Helfort, the last man in line.

I moved as stealthily as I could to the clearing. I abruptly bumped into someone else with a curse.

"Watch it, ya dumbass!" snarled Skylan. "Oh, it's you. Ya still a dumbass."

"Silence," Jevarn whispered menacingly. "Do you want the enemy on top of us already?"

"Yes, sergeant! Let us show them the might of the Imperium!" said Mogas enthusiastically, albeit quietly. Among Squad Blue he was probably the one who loved the Imperium the most.

Disgusting. Not that I hated my fellow man. Just that the Imperium's two key values of obedience and blind loyalty didn't quite appeal to me.

"In time, Initiate Mogas. In time. But do we know of their armaments? What of their defences, soldiery, or even their general morale? Our duty is first and foremost to the Imperium, not our own visceral urges," lectured the sergeant, now speaking in a low voice. "There will be plenty of time to sate that afterwards. As for you, Initiate Sernax..."

His hand was a dark blur, lashing out to clout Sernax on the head. He fell on his back with a muffled yelp.

"That is for speaking without reason. _We are truly behind enemy lines_. This is no paltry game, nor is it training with fettered combat servitors. A loose word might spell doom for all of us. As for your question, who knows what Old Tech sensors these Targrenites have? Staying in that area might have resulted in our discovery. What do we know of their technology?"

Most of the squad nodded in agreement, apart from a dazed Sernax. He was busy rubbing the rising lump on his head. Poor bastard. Though it was a much better deal than Jevarn's usual method of kicking us with his armoured boots.

The sergeant opened the box, pulling out the contents. He passed out small, flat boxes out to us. It resembled the _fiasco_ one of the orphanage's matrons carried with her. It had contained face paints and flowery unguents to make her look prettier. Ironically, she had the personality of a rabid grox, and was about sixty years old. I had been terrified of her when I little.

There was a saying on Sayre that went: _You could put lipstick on a pig, but it's still a pig._ I had always thought that applied to that particular hag. For once, my assumption was somewhat correct as the sergeant informed us on the purpose of these boxes.

"Camouflage paint. There is a catch on the side – open it like so." He flipped open the flat box, and we copied him.

I looked down at it. In the gloom of the night, I could only make out three strips of different shades, the width of my thumb. I couldn't make out their colour – that was damn impossible without proper light. But I could tell which was the darkest or the lightest, as well as the one in between.

"The point of this is to break up the shape of a human face. You see, the contours of a human face define it; such as the nose and the cheeks. You will notice the nose appears to be a lighter shade, while the hollows of the eyes seem darker. Am I correct?"

We gave a low murmur of assent.

"So, this paint will make our faces appear flat. And human faces are _not_ flat – unless they've been under our boots, aye?"

A few of Squad Blue snorted in amusement, Helfort included. I remained unfazed.

"Now you apply the lighter paint on the darker areas of your face, such as the sides of your nose and around your eyes. Directly underneath your mouth too. Snap to it!"

We immediately began to smear the lightest paint around those areas. I scowled in disgust at the oily, sticky feel of it.

"Liberally – this stuff is staying on for the entire time we are here."

_Jovi damn this rot!_ I moaned in my head, reluctantly digging my fingers deeper into the lightest strip of viscous paint.

"Lister bra, this crap feels like shit!" whispered Sky, trying to stay unheard.

"Good, Initiate Skylan. Long may you suffer." Obviously my Feckulian buddy hadn't tried hard enough. The sergeant moved on.

"The darkest paint goes on the lightest regions of your face. That means the eye brows, nose, cheek bones and the tip of your chin."

_How to women do this?_ I fumed silently. It felt horrid, like I was spreading grease all over my face. I felt a new respect for that matron.

"Done? Spread the rest of the paint on your face in random patches. Try make it as haphazard as possible, like something of nature."

I compared paint jobs with Helfort and Skylan. Helfort had a mono-brow, with straight stripes of dark paint on where the sergeant had indicated. Skylan had opted to spread the paint all over his hands, and slopped it all over his face. It looked like he had been slapped with a paint-covered hand. Apparently, I looked like I had a bad rash. We exchanged light-hearted insults as we told each other what to fix.

"More on the cheek. Decent. Disgraceful – put more on. Alright. Pass." The sergeant moved among us, inspecting our facial camouflage. He looked over me.

"Hmph" He moved on without further comment. I suppose that was a pass? Jevarn was a hard man to read.

"Blacken your weapons now. The colour silver has no place in a such an environment."

He was right. Our bolters and shotguns were a dull, non-reflective silver, but they looked out of place here. I rubbed most of my remaining camouflage paint onto my bolter, dulling it. I did my metal buckle straps as well – no point not doing them. I noticed Helfort doing that for his bolt pistol, as well as the stiff sheath that held his chainsword. He turned to me.

"Would thy oblige mine entreaty of more paint?" he asked. I tossed him my flat box in reply, figuring that I could use mud at a pinch. It would certainly be more comfortable.

"Couldn't we use some light, sergeant?" Mogas complained.

"Yes sergeant. I cannot see," agreed Yumec.

"And broadcast our position to our enemies? Use your eyes, curse you. That's what they're for. Haven't they adjusted yet?" growled Jevarn.

I supposed they had. When we had first burst out of the transport the forest had seemed pitch black. Now I could make out the individual leaves on the trees by the false light of the night. In that moment of calm I looked up at the glittering stars...and at something else. A brownish crescent of some sort, that outshone even the brightest of the stars.

Some sort of enemy weapon? Or some terrible xeno artefact? I considered alerting the sergeant, then changed my mind. Who knew what punishment he would give me? Instead I approached Sernax's shadowy form, tugging his sleeve.

"Hey Sernax, what's that up there in the sky?" I whispered, pointing at the glowing crescent hanging in the night sky. He stiffened with an incredulous air.

"You don't know what that is?"

"Nup, buddy. So educate me."

"You _really_ don't know what that is? Is this one of Skylan's pranks?" He stuck a finger at Sky's sitting silhouette.

I shook my head.

"Well, that's a moon. Ever heard of that?" he asked, a little snidely.

"Ah, right buddy. Aren't they supposed to be round?"

"Depends on what the date is. Something about its alignment and how the star's light reflects off it. Look – my bolter isn't going to clean itself. Those Army bums must've dropped it somewhere wet, it's all scummy now. Talk to you later, OK?"

Man, I felt like an idiot.

He patted his heavy bolter affectionately. It was a monster of a gun, thicker than a standard bolter and fed by a bulky drum magazine. A vertical pole grip protruded from the top of the weapon near the front; and from the bottom dangled a tripod. I nodded in reply.

_So that's a moon,_ I thought, gazing up at the heavens. Sayre didn't have one, even though I had heard of them. I still remembered the chronicles of Commander Apollo the Eleventh and his daring exploits to see his lover Selene from my childhood days. Speaking of Sayre, where was it's star? Perhaps, right at this moment Jane was looking up at the stars as well. I swept my gaze across the shining expanse of sky. Maybe for a brief moment we had made eye contact across the endless cosmos.

With some regret I tore my eyes away from the night sky. Jevarn was busy finishing concealing the crate, and was now taking our packs to hide as well. I just hoped he didn't notice that me and Sky's packs were heavier than they should be.

"Sergeant, aren't we sleeping?" asked Sky.

"No – tonight, we find the enemy," laughed Jevarn. His killer's smile felt a dead chill running down my spine.

Here was a man who killed for a living, and remorselessly so. I saw in his eyes what I had seen in so many of the adult soldiers in the Sayrean Freedom League. This was a man whose joy in life had been drained by the hardships and cruelty of war. This was the man I would become if I didn't escape.

"Now move out!" And without further ado, we shouldered our equipment and slunk off into the rustling forest.

…...

We trudged through the forest, trying to walk quietly. I spat another silent curse as a leaf, or twig, or whatever misbegotten _thing_ in this accursed forest snapped under my feet. Sayre never had these so-called forests – just a few wind-blasted trees littering the desert. I was hemmed in by leaves and branches, slapping and scratching me in the face. The hefty vox caster on my back wasn't much better, but loosening the straps and resting it on my bum bag seemed to help.

I could barely make out Helfort's shape in front of me, twenty metres ahead amidst the foliage. I was second last in line, with Skylan right at the back. I heard a slight gurgle as he drank from his canteen.

_Wait, or was that his beer?_

I turned around, and there walked Sky, one arm cradling his shotgun, another holding a can of his beer. Where the hell did he get that from? Noticing my horrified stare, he raised the can in a mocking salute. At least he had enough sense to wrap the metal in a dark cloth to hide its shine.

I shook my head and turned away. I just hoped the beer wasn't one of those pungent types, those that you could smell from a mile away. Not that an enemy soldier would be likely to notice. The air was filled was filled with this damp musk, like something wet was rotting. I wrinkled my nose in distaste.

Ahead, I saw Helfort slowly crouch. I watched on in incomprehension. Then I suddenly realised.

_Shit! Contact! Contact!_

For a moment I fought the urge to flee. But where? I felt my knees buckle, and I sank slowly to the ground, just as I had been taught. I slipped under the nearest bush. I glanced behind me. Sky was prone on the ground. It was utterly silent.

A Terran saying sprang to mind. _When the birds are silent, the enemy is near._

The galaxy was watching me from the bushes, I was sure. I felt as exposed as a newborn babe. My earpiece crackled and hissed.

"Bravo Two, this is Bravo One, do you read, over?" Jevarn's distorted voice filtered through. In vox-speak I was Bravo Two, and the sergeant was Bravo One. Condor, when he finally hauled his ass into orbit in the _Armageddon Knight_ was Zero Alpha. He was tactical support or something.

"Err...Bravo Two, I copy, over," I mumbled, trying to remember the vox protocols while staying quiet. I think I supposed to say my own call-sign when speaking.

"Bravo One, we have six enemy contacts at the front. Advise the rear. Do not engage. Over."

I supposed I was right about the call-sign thing.

"Bravo Two, will-co, over."

"Bravo One, roger, out." My earpiece went dead.

I swallowed, my mouth bone-dry. Now I had to move. But who first? I looked up ahead at Helfort, then behind at Sky. I guess Sky. He was more trigger happy than Helfort, or so it seemed.

_Gently, gently now..._ I carefully brushed the leaves out of my path as I crawled towards the Feckulian. That way they wouldn't crackle as I moved.

I crawled, shuffled, slithered, all too aware of the bulky vox caster on my back. Would they see it? Were they already lining up their shots? I made a quick prayer to Jovi, almost sensing the bullet.

But nothing came. Just Skylan's smelly breath.

"What the 'ell's the deal?" he whispered.

"Six guys – you know, enemies," I replied, just as quietly.

"Ah, so we kill 'em?" He slipped the safety off his shotgun.

"Sarge says not to fight."

"Bloody 'ell, fine." The safety was thankfully switched back on.

"Cheers, bro. Sarge didn't anything else. I'll tell you if he does..." I slipped away, now crawling to Helfort.

For what seemed like an eternity I bruised my knees on the forest floor. Helfort's face loomed from the dark.

"Our enemies come hither?" he hissed urgently. His chainsword was already out of its sheath.

"Six. I mean – quite a few." Helfort couldn't count.

"No great host?" he asked.

"Nope. Sarge says to keep quiet and hide. Don't fight, he says."

"But that is craven! Cowardice most foul!" he protested. His knuckles went white clenching his chainsword's hilt.

"Don't fight, buddy. We'll do enough of that later, I think."

To my relief he nodded. I slipped back to my place in the line, and waited. Now I could hear the crunch of boots – not ours.

The enemies' boots.

I heard the rough bass tones of laughing men, their forms crashing through the undergrowth. I peered carefully from under the brim of my helmet, seeing dim specks of red – they were smoking something. One idiot had a flashlight, waving its white beam about whimsically. I turned my eyes away from it. I wouldn't be able to see in the dark if I looked at it.

Ha! I don't know what they were expecting to see with that light. I felt a surge of contempt replace my fear. They could step right over us and not see anything. If no one got trigger-happy, that is...

"I don't see any of those _Imperiazis_," said an enemy soldier, not even bothering to keep his voice down. He spoke Anglish Low Gothic with an exotic accent. I reckoned '_Imperiazis_' meant Imperials. And that meant us.

_Of course you don't, you stupid grox_, I thought. I considered jumping up and yelling 'Now you do!' before shooting them. No, I wasn't being serious.

"Where's those um...space marines?" another commented, chewing out the words 'space marines'.

"In space, dumbo," said the closest figure.

I couldn't help thinking, _There's gonna be some space in your head soon..._

"Too big and fat to get down here, huh?"jeered one of them in the distance. The torch beam flicked to the trees above. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying not to look at it.

"Like your mother, Private?" snapped a taller shadow. Even in the gloom of the forest he radiated authority. The Targrenites erupted in a storm or jeers and catcalls. I saw the tall one's head swivel, scanning the undergrowth.

The hairs on my neck stood up. This one was dangerous. I slipped my safety off.

"Quiet! I think there's something out there..." he snarled, raising a hand. The men fell silent. My trigger finger itched. Sweat ran down my face.

"Show yourselves! Damn _Imperiazis_, here to take our world!" he tall one commanded, squinting into the gloom. "We are officers of the Combine. You will reveal yourselves!"

_It's a bluff. It's a bluff. _I prayed.

The Targrenites began to fan out, peering into the bushes. Twenty metres, fifteen, ten...

I gulped. The bush didn't seem so concealing now.

As if confirming my thoughts, Jevarn's voice crackled in my earpiece.

"This is Bravo One. The rear will engage. Hand strokes, be silent. Over."

"Bravo Two, roger, over."

I turned and hand-signalled to Skylan behind me. I drew a finger across my throat.

_Kill them silently,_ it meant. Sky gave me a quick hands-up in reply. I looked up at Helfort. He wasn't looking at me – he would have to improvise. Ahead, I saw an enemy soldier's head peer down, at some rectangular shape...

That was Sernax's heavy bolter! By Jovi!

I signalled frantically to Skylan. We rose, knives in hand, guns in the other. My left clenched a foot-long blade.

I slunk behind a man, knife poised to kill.

_Crack._

I winced as the twig broke. The man whirled around. Our eyes met.

My knife flashed. Up it went, into the man's right side. Right between the ribs.

"Hurk!" His gasp was barely audible. The air had left him.

I wrenched the knife out, his lifeblood coating my hand. I fought down the gorge rising in me.

His hands scrabbled desperately. Some last gesture of revenge?

I never found out.

Once, then twice. My knife sheathed itself in his heart. We both sank, in some macabre visceral embrace. The body shuddered as its soul fled this existence.

He was dead. I helped the cooling corpse fall silently to the ground. Warm, sticky liquid coated my fatigues. The man had vomited blood all over me in a final display of resistance.

_Forgive Jovi, for I have murdered once more,_ I murmured under my breath. And what would Jane think of me? A shockingly loud voice reminded me of the danger I was in.

"Ho, Kieran, you alright?" called another soldier. Leaves crackled as a dark shape approached.

_Kieran, I will drink to you in the afterlife, _I promised to the corpse.

I looked down, bloody knife in bloodied hand. This was no time for sentimentality. I gritted my teeth painfully.

"Fine, just threw up." I muffled my voice deliberately.

He stopped walking, two feet away from me. The world stood still as he peered at me.

"Wait, you aren't..."

He never finished the sentence.

With an explosive jerk I slammed my knife into his temple, pivoting my entire body to drive the entire blade into the man's brain. An instant later it was out, trailed by a spray of gore.

Just as I had been trained.

Again, my hands were steeped in blood. Alaris – or Jevarn, would have been proud.

I just felt sick.

The dead man toppled limply with a crash of dead leaves.

Then the world went crazy.

The Targrenites yelled and pointed. The torch beam flashed my way.

I scrambled to the side as bullets slashed through the spot where I was. As suddenly as it had started, the shooting stopped.

I saw Skylan wrap a burly arm around the shooter's neck – and _twist_. The man's neck broke with a horrific snap. The corpse slid bonelessly to the ground.

Three down, three to go. Helfort leapt up, driving his chainsword's finger guard into another man's face. He howled, clutching his shattered nose. Helfort dispatched him with a hilt blow to the neck.

I swore as I noticed the enemy leader fumbling with something. He was grinning manically.

_A flare gun! By Jovi – the whole world would know of us!_

My hands scrabbled to find my bolter's safety. Sky was already hurling himself at the man.

But here came Jevarn!

Like some titanic war god of antiquity he barrelled through the last grunt, caving in his head with a massive fist. In one smooth moment he drew his knife. For a second it caught the argent moonlight, then with an underhand flick flew straight into the enemy commander's eye.

_Thump._

The man's body collapsed, Jevarn's knife buried to the hilt. The unused flare gun sullenly rolled away from him.

For a moment, not a sound. Helfort raised a cheer, but was quickly cut off by Jevarn's furious glare.

"Conceal these bodies – hurry! We must be away," he instructed urgently. "Take your trophies if you must, but be quick!"

Our sergeant knelt down, wrenching his knife back and forth to extricate his blade from the corpse's skull. My stomach heaved at the squelching sound. We split off to the ones we killed, the rest of the squad keeping watch.

I squatted next to the first man I had killed, feeling wretched. The gloom concealed his features, but I knew his name would haunt me forever. I felt my knees shaking.

_Kieran_. The first man I had killed in the Emperor's service. Yes – I had fought and killed for the SFL, but that was for a noble cause. But here...this just just – just murder. And Jovi was not kind to murderers...

I spotted something gleaming around his neck. My fingers traced its shape. A dog-tag. My hand closed around it and pulled, tearing the object from the man's neck. Something to remind me of my guilt.

Sins partially absolved, I grabbed hold of the man's boots and pulled him underneath a bush, heaping leaves and bracken on top of the cadaver. I gave a quick prayer to Jovi.

_Commend he who was named Kieran to Elysia._

And that was all. I headed back for the next man, taking his dog tags in the process. I couldn't see what his name was, but I would certainly find out later. Again, the body was laid to rest underneath a cairn of leaves.

Sky slipped past me, plunging into the two mounds and tugging at something. My gut churned as I saw him pulling at the waxy arms of the corpses.

"What are you doing?" I blurted out. "Stop! Stop!"

"Eh, bra? Oh, that. I'll fix up ya piles after ah'm finished." He turned back to the arms, pulling at them. Something metallic caught the starlight. Watches.

"That ain't right, Sky! Ain't right at all! They're dead now – leave them be!" I protested weakly. A great exhaustion swept through me.

He turned to look at me. "They're _meat_, that's all. They 'aven't got use fer this stuff, but ah' do."

"They'll haunt you – and me!"

It was said that a body disturbed would come back as a ghoul to haunt its tormentor on Sayre. That was why graveyards were given such a wide berth by everyone.

"Cor, ya big softie! Ah'll kill 'em agin!" he sneered, ripping off a watch. "Don't rot ya mind with kid's tales, Lister. Not like ya."

"I'm serious, Sky." I made no attempt to stop him though. I needed him to escape as much as he needed me.

"Well, if they come, they won't have _time_ to die agin afore ah' stick 'em." He brandished a watch aggressively.

"Besides, who's tha' with a gallon a' blood on 'is shirt?" he snorted dismissively. He turned on his heel and headed for the next body.

I looked down at my fatigues. Even in the dark I could make out the dark patches of blood covering my entire front. I reeked of gore. I touched it. Sticky, foul...

I spent the next five minutes throwing up where I stood.

…...

The sour taste of dried bile dogged me as we made our way through the forest. I gasped and sweated, taxed to the limit by Jevarn's forced march. We were fleeing the battle zone – six hours of fast walking to get as far away from it as possible. The grey murk of pre-dawn permeated the undergrowth, and my chest throbbed.

_Curse you Jevarn – you don't even let us drink!_

My canteens and water pouch were still brimming with water, despite our exertions. The sergeant had promised a sound belting to anyone who dared to flaunt this order – apparently this was to keep our canteens from sloshing if we had to hide. I didn't care any more. My tongue felt like a piece of dried leather, and that vile taste made me gag.

Oh, and anything to wash off the blood! Its iron tang still filled my nostrils, and my clothes were stiff and crackly from it.

On the up side, I couldn't keep my mind off Jane. I suppose being so close to escape was getting to head. Or my knees for that matter – I wasn't particularly paying close attention to the terrain and kept falling over.

"Oi, remember these?" whsipered Sky suddenly.

He had come from the very back of the line. That was against regulations to stay so close, but since we were at the back two I wasn't particularly troubled. Nor would Jevarn, as long as he didn't know. I looked at what Skylan was showing me. A green vial.

Was that those suppressor things – or those pain killers? In my exhausted state I couldn't remember what Apothecary Reyedon had told me. I peered at the label. _Morsus caedere._ Jovi damned High Gothic.

I had no idea what _morsus_ meant, but I had an inkling of what _caedere_ meant. 'To kill'; I think it meant. It showed up in many Imperial Army mottos and slogans. So pain had to be _morsus_.

"Pain killers?" I asked, just to check.

"Aye, bra. Look – ah'm suspicious 'bout these."

"How so? There just pain-killers."

"Look 'ere. Ya dunno what 'xactly they've put in these. Could be anything. Drugs that send ya mad maybe, or p'raps control yer mind," he mused, tapping the vial with a finger.

"Buddy, I need something to drink – why don't I try it? If I act odd you can ditch these and I'll stop drinking them," I suggested. It was selfish of me, yes – but I was dying for something to drink and take this blasted pain out of my chest.

"Hrm. Yer choice Lister. But we'll ditch these 'ormone suppressors, eh? Ah 'eard 'bout 'ormones, they make ya angrier and faster in a fight – ain't no sense no' 'avin' tha'."

There was a quiet _crunch_ as Skylan's yellow vials were ground to powder under his heel.

"I'm not sure..." I mused hesitantly. "All this crap they've stuck in us – I don't know anything about 'em. And my apothecary – I'm pretty sure he wasn't expecting me to..._you know_."

Of that, I wasn't too sure. Who could say what Ancient tech mind reading devices the Apothecarium had stashed away? And perhaps I might have blurted out my plans in a fit of delirium. But that was dead and done, and the only way was forwards now.

"Look, it's odd stuff. I'll try it once, and if I start acting funny – well, then we'll lose them. Hey – how do we get rid of all this extra baggage when we go?" I continued, pointing at my chest.

"Gah – munnie cures everythin'. Mind, we 'ave ta find the galaxy's best surgeon, an' taike it in turns, so they don't run off wit' the munnie. But 'ey, a few hundred bullions. The whole _galaxy's_ yer oyster," Sky said softly.

That sounded good. But one thing was nagging me.

"What's an oyster?" I asked.

"Wha...? Those things in the sea," said Sky, nonplussed.

"Ah, never mind," I muttered, feeling embarrassed. I wished I knew more about the galaxy.

The line stopped again. I felt my heart sink. Here we go again...

Ahead, I saw Helfort turn and gesticulate. I squinted, the light of the growing dawn still too weak.

"Ah' think he needs ya," Skylan commented. "Oi, take ya poison first."

"Right." I dug into my bum-bag, pulling out three vials. I clicked my tongue in annoyance, as they were all green. I tucked two back in and rummaged about again, this time extracting a yellow vial. Down they went, barely a mouthful each but enough to wet my tongue.

"Well?" he demanded.

"Dunno." I shrugged. "Tell you after, yeah?"

Sky grunted in reply, fading back into the undergrowth. Feeling naked and exposed, I crawled towards a crouching Helfort. Damp leaves brushed against my combat vest, some burrowing into the gaps in between the plates. I coughed and spat as one got in my mouth.

"The good sergeant bids thee to attend to him," whispered Helfort, pointing up ahead. He wrinkled his nose. "And thee smells like a charnel house."

"Thanks, Helfort."

"I would be honoured if thou wouldst call me by mine birth name. We are friends, are we not?"

"Yeah...Jyon. It's gonna be an effort changing your name in this mind of mine, though."

He smiled. "For all good things to pass we must striveth with all our hearts."

"Yeah, that's true."

I slid hastily around Helfort – Jyon now – feeling like a two-faced liar. I had to run afterwards. Leaving friends was unimaginably painful. Better that I had no friends to lose.

Ten minutes later, I reached the sergeant. His mammoth form shifted and turned towards me. He looked as irritable as ever.

"Initiate Lister. Good. I require your vox," he ordered, voice a deep bass rumble.

"Yes sergeant." I undid the buckles securing my vox, and slipped the whole lot off my shoulders. My aching bones almost sighed in relief.

"Dial in vox code 3298481AJ445," he instructed.

His sausage-like fingers deftly assembled the two meter-long antenna. We backed against a tree to hide the long whip-like aerial. I fumbled and pressed out the right sequence, and hit the 'Transmit' button. Jevarn took the handset out of its protective case and plugged in the lead. We waited for a terse, silent minute. My sergeant was not a garrulous man.

Then I heard the distinctive crackling of an activated vox link. I twiddled and adjusted the various dials and electrics to home in on the incoming signal. Jevarn gave a curt nod when he was satisfied. I crouched nearby, bolter in hand – and surreptitiously listening in.

"Zero Alpha, this is Bravo One, do you copy? Over."

Static hissed for a moment. Then Condor came on line.

"Zero Alpha, I copy, over."

"Bravo One, your disposition, over."

"Zero Alpha, the Eagles fly, but the echo-tango-alpha of the Roost is yet to be seen, over."

I groaned mentally. Echo-tango-alpha was vox-speak for ETA, or estimated time of arrival. That meant no reinforcements any time soon. The 'Roost' was more vox-speak, referring to our detachment of the 2nd Expeditionary Fleet. 'Eagles' were our sky-eyes, Ancient tech machines that floated in the ether above Targren IV. It was said that they could see every hair on a person's head on the surface.

Secretly, I thought that the vox-speak was laughably simple to decode. But, as with most people in the Emperor's domains, your opinion mattered not. So I kept my mouth shut, out of fear of Jevarn's fist.

"Bravo One, roger. Direct two into geosynchronous orbit over our position. Over."

"Zero Alpha, wilco, over."

"Bravo One, glory to Terra, out."

The vox-link terminated. Jevarn grinned, rubbing his chin with a bloodstained hand. He held something out to me.

"Look at this..." he said.

I took the necklace in his hands. It was a circle of stamped metal, in the shape of an old man's face.

"What is this, sergeant?" I asked, confused.

"_This_ is idolatry. Religion. The very thing we seek to stamp out."

I said nothing. My opinion wouldn't matter anyway to him. There was no point arguing.

"Hmmm...at least this is a blessing. Some religions make no use idols...those are harder to root out. Remind me to include that in my report, initiate."

"What are our orders, sergeant?" I asked cautiously, trying to change the subject.

"Well, given those sky-eyes orbiting the planet, there is no need for much reconnaissance. I would say the fleet is at least a week away – give or take a few days. So, let us confound these idolators!" he announced jovially. "Blades and bullets, boy – the best cure for stubborn enemies!"

Hot damn, here we go...

**Merry Christmas all! Again, tell me about grammar mistakes and such, and I'll fix it up ASAP.**


	24. Omake: Exmass on Sayre

**Alien26: Thanks for the review. As for your question, Jevarn is probably used to such sights. His is a genocidal space marine after all.**

_**902.M29**_

_**Six years before Imperial invasion**_

_**Orphanage No. 18, Downtown Ginas, Sayre**_

Another storm was brewing outside. Anyone could feel it if they walked outside – that tense, brooding sense of _expectation_ as the wind whipped across their face at seventy miles an hour. In a few hours half the desert would dump its airborne contents onto the city of Ginas. Sayre's dusty capital was about to get dustier.

Not that it mattered to a ten year old Solas Listern. He wriggled and fidgeted in his unyielding stool, dreaming about the time the bell would ring. He was crammed into a stuffy warehouse with a hundred other boys of his year's intake. The girls were next door in another warehouse. Classes were segregated according to gender, with contact between the two sexes discouraged by the crusty masters and matrons.

"You young 'uns are too easily distracted!" they would say, shaking their heads. "Back to your lessons!"

Girls, of course, were the last thing on little Solas' mind. If asked, he would say: _Icky, scratchy things – but good for chasing_, before running off to play with his friends. He was a small child, with a scraggly thatch of black hair perched on his head, brown eyes and a sun-browned hide like every Jovi-loving Sayrean. He was so small in fact, that the annual doctor had taken him aside the year before to speak to him.

"Buddy, you need to eat more. You need nutrients to grow big and strong! Eat – eat more!" he had urged strongly.

A stupefied Solas had come out of the doctor's office with just two words in his head: eat and _noo-tree-ents_. So with that in mind, he took it upon himself to eat as much as possible. Which wasn't much from the larders, as they were often empty. Mice, rats, spiders, birds – all caught, roasted and chomped up by an unfussy Solas. He had considered eating some of his friends as well, and had taken the thought to one of the kinder matrons. Old mother Hubble had told him it wasn't the most friendliest thing to do, so he had squashed that idea. But if it moved, Solas Listern would eat it.

But today...today was special. Today was the twenty-fifth of twelve month. Today was _Exmass_, and eating was far from Solas' mind. He was busy counting the minutes left until class ended, and the beginning of the half-day of enjoyment. They could do whatever they wanted on this day – simply anything, and not get punished! Headmistress Black's cane would go untouched today.

There was a plan...a plan that went around in hushed whispers and hooded glances. Never particularly attentive, Solas had heard only a few words. Chamber pots. That was enough to get the gears and cogs in his head whirring. He stared down the many rows of wooden benches without truly seeing them.

Chamber pots!

…...

Meanwhile, two walls away, a girl talked with her friends at the back of the room. Her nut brown hair was a messy tangle, it would have to be combed afterwards. Despite being in the same year's intake as the excited Solas, they had never met. Not yet, anyway. Not until the Aquila descended upon Sayre on wings of fire. The girl's name was Jane Dell.

"Are we _really_ gonna go after the boys?" Elsie was ever an incessant chatterer, her voice piping and high. Her overly loud tones belied her impish frame.

Their teacher, Matron Waters, shot Elsie an irritated glance. Of course, there was only twenty minutes until Exmass began for Orphanage Number 18, and Matron Waters wanted her tea. No sense chewing out some noisy girl when there were young men to find. Matron Waters was considered a spinster at the age of thirty-six. Her toxic bouts of flatulence drove any potential suitors off. Indeed, an out-gassing was currently travelling across the room, followed by groans and giggles.

"Why not? The fair ain't gonna be working remember. The storm and all," Jane replied.

"Yeah, it'll be diff'rent!" lisped Tyna. She was in the process of changing teeth, and half her mouth was filled with gaps. Since no one knew precisely _when_ every orphan was born, every orphan was at a different age. Tyna was quite possibly the oldest of the lot.

"It might well," was the stout objection of Kellie. "Besides, they're _boys_. They smell!"

As one, the small group recited an old rhyme. Rumour had it that it dated back to Old Earth itself.

"_What are little boys made of?_

_Snips and snails, and puppy dog tails!_

_That's what little boys are made of!"_

They burst out laughing, much to the impotent wrath of a gaseous Matron Waters. The unfortunate lady had just 'dropped another bomb', and was uncomfortably trying to conceal the fact that she was the perpetrator.

"And what are _girls_ made of?" asked Jane, grinning.

"_Sugar and spice and all things nice!"_ they all chanted.

"Will you little brats be quiet?" screeched Waters. She brandished her cane at them threateningly. She advanced on the trembling girls.

_Fffrrrttt!_

Silence.

"Oh dear...please excuse...I must be away!" mumbled the teacher in a small voice. She waddled awkwardly out as quickly as possible.

"Is class out?" asked someone at the front, to no one in particular.

"Class is out!" screamed another girl.

The room descended into chaos, filled with excited whoops and shrieks. The four girls huddled together and moved through the press.

…...

The streets outside were teeming with excited orphans, all heading to the fair located at the outskirts of Ginas. It was a yearly tradition, for the roaming circus land-caravans to converge on the Ginas _caravanserai_ to dazzle the city's populace with thrilling pyrotechnics and sleight-of-hand tricks. The _caravanserai_ itself was an open-air stadium, with accommodation on the sides for the circus-folk. Even the iron fist of the Tyrant couldn't stop the circus nomads from coming and going.

Solas pelted outside, unsure of where to go. He knew not to follow the stream of children downtown to the the circus. The wind blew harder, scattering the baskets of road-side merchants like chaff. He looked about, ducking as a corrugated iron roof was lifted off the top of a shanty-house and was blasted at him. Ginas was a rather flat city, filled with streets lined with single-storey ghetto houses that glowed heartily from the inside. The Tyrant's palace loomed in the distance, a giant pyramidal spike thrusting up to the heavens. There were also the laser defence silos – larger than the houses around them but smaller than the Tyrant's home.

"Hey Lister! Over here – catch!" yelled a man's voice over the wind. Solas turned around, just in time to grab a candy bar out of the air. A soldier in full ceremonial uniform waved at him, gold frogging resplendent on his red tunic. Even in the most joyful occasions the Tyrant liked to flaunt his military might. Of course, his soldiers were human.

"Thanks Mr Gightmann!" he shouted back. "Merry Exmass to you!"

"Same to you kiddo! Don't get in too much trouble!" The guard marched off, greeting the kids as they ran past him. He had come from the orphanage himself.

At every corner speakers blared to life, uttering the very words of Bon Jovi himself. Solas thought for a moment, listening to the prayer. _Bad Medicine_, it was. That meant that they were burning witches on the Exmass bonfire. Solas didn't really care for that, or the circus. He was ten now, and grown up. Burning witches and party tricks were for the little kids.

If he remembered correctly, they would then sing a song to call the Rain Deer to bring the Exmass rains. Solas had no idea what a deer was, but who did?

The voice of one of his friends jolted him out of his thoughts.

"Ho, there you are buddy!" puffed Fryec. "Was looking for you everywhere."

"Sorry man," said Solas.

"Let's _go_," urged Holdern, running ahead.

…...

Somewhere in orbit, a ship drifted.

It was red.

White.

And fluffy.

Inside, sat a cargo worth more than all the diamonds in the galaxy.

For this, the Eldar would burn a hundred worlds.

For this, the Emperor would redirect an entire Expeditionary Fleet – well, if he hadn't already.

For this, the Orks would – well, _fight_ it, or at least try to. And die.

Its cargo was a Primarch.

Not just any Primarch, mind. Not any that would appear in any Imperial records. In the cockpit was the ex-Primarch of the Second Astartes Legion, who had just been recently sacked.

His name was Santa Klaus, he was _bored_.

Resplendent in his shockingly crimson tunic with a white fluffy trim, the sight of him was enough to make anyone's eyes bleed. He had a wobbly paunch, something almost impossible for a Primarch and a feat in itself. His beard was comical enough to make any of the future Space Wolves to tear their facial hair off.

And his battlecry?

'HO HO HO HO HO HO HO HO HO HO," he would shout, yell or scream. Little wonder why the Emperor sacked him.

But that was not the only reason he was sacked. His most Imperial father has sacked him for a variety of reasons. The list was long.

His unfortunate habit of home invasions was a source of irritation to the Imperium as a whole. On the battle of Titan his Second Legion had been wiped out while he was busy 'visiting' some children. Santa's repulsive way of gorging himself on cookies and milk did not please his father either.

Neither was the fact that the Emperor himself had been the original Santa Claus please his Imperial Majesty. A Santa who had flown through the air on a reindeer sleigh held aloft by His own psychic might, and who had dropped stealthily into chimneys at midnight. _Not_, as the Emperor had repeated countless times, with a Stormbird Assault Carrier through the roof.

'I want subjects, not flatcakes,' was one of His famous quotes regarding the second Primarch.

One of the biggest areas of dispute was when it came to children. Santa Klaus was extremely fond of children. _Extremely_ fond, to the point of the Emperor objecting. On many a world, children were warned of any strangers asking them to 'polish Santa's doorknob'.

Of course, there was the subject of _elves_. Santa was as fond of them as his children. In later studies conducted by the Adeptus Mechanicus, these 'elves' would be found to be genetically modified Squats. The Primarch's father had gone so far as to recommend lobotomised Eldar, but was firmly rejected.

"They're not as soft and pliable!" Santa had exclaimed. That was about the time he was excommunicated, right after a fight with his brother Horus.

_Bloody prat, and what's with that stupid claw?_ Santa mused irritably. _Its like he's compensating for something._

The Primarch scratched his gelatinous belly sadly. _I liked Daddy better when he was called Chuck Norris_. _He certainly did cooler things, and didn't have this space marine thing going._

A morose Santa reflected on his own legion. They had loved him when they were introduced – until one of them asked him to show them his fighting prowess. A century of eating nothing but chocolate cookies and drinking milk had left its mark on him. Flabby white arms had been unable to lift any of the many swords proffered to him. His military tactics were not much either.

"Charge! Erm...I'll just sit here for um...moral support, OK?" was the sum total of his speech at the battle of Callisto. He was quite proud of it.

_Well, might as well do something, I suppose..._

With a resigned sigh, he pressed a button, the ship descended on the city below.

…...

"Comon, hurry – the boys are getting away!" hissed Jane. Elsie, Kellie and Tyna crept after her.

"Lemme...take...a...breather..." gasped Kellie.

_FVROOM!_

The girls gaped as a starship landed on one of the rooftops. Thankfully, the shanty-house was deserted. A rotund figure hurried out, clad in red.

"Ho ho ho, Merry Christmas!" it boomed. The little group shrank back. It bent down in front of them, dough-like hands on its knees.

"I am the Primarch Santa. Would you nice little girls like some presents?" it wheedled.

The girls shook their heads vigorously. Jane's tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth in fear.

"N – n – no!" Elsie managed to stammer.

"All you have to to do polish Santa's doorknob! Be good girls!" he urged.

Again, they shook their heads, edging away from him.

"Hang on, I'll give you a present!" he exclaimed, reaching down. "It's a special thing called a pocket rocket – and its really big and –"

Jane's fist lashed out on impulse, piercing the flabby folds of flesh over the fork of Santa's legs.

"Hmmmppph!" The would-be 'rocketeer' sunk to the ground groaning. There was a _crack_ as his nose hit a stone.

"Run!" screamed Tyna. "And merry Exmasth to you, sthorry about that!"

The last thing Santa thought before blacking out was: _At least I have a pair to hit, unlike Horus_...

…...

Solas did not like heaving chamber pots. They stank, obviously. But there was basically no one to help him, just Fryec and Holdern. The rest had buggered off to see the circus. The storm was late.

"The plan is..." Fryec grunted, starting up a flight of stairs leading up to an overhead bridge. "...the plan is to dump this on Headmistress Black's head."

Solas nearly dropped his pot. It sloshed and popped.

"She lives around here. So she'll pass under here, and we'll pour this on her," continued Fryec.

"Ha! Nice plan," sniggered Holdern, despite the weight of his chamber pot.

They reached the top of the stairs and looked down at the street below.

"Wait – do we drop the pot on her or pour the stuff on her?" Solas asked.

"Pour it, dummy," Fryec laughed.

"Sounds good to me. Merry Exmass to her," Solas replied.

"_Smelly_ Exmass to her," Holdern quipped. They chortled for a moment before setting up the pots.

The bridge was an overhead one, about five metres from ground level. There was only a waist high guide-rail running along it. For the boys, that meant shoulder height. The street was entirely hemmed in by shops, with only grox-drawn wagons passing through. It seemed relatively easy, waiting for the Headmistress to pass underneath.

The storm was beginning to brew up, the cast-iron joints of the bridge creaking and screeching. Solas figured they had about twenty minutes before the dust and wind got too much to bear. He wrapped a cloth across his nose and mouth to stop the dust, desert-raider style. Holdern and Fryec followed suit.

"Here she comes!" cried Fryec, waving excitedly. He pointed in the distance.

And there she was! Headmistress Black, sitting on an open-topped wagon drawn by a scaly grox, a fair distance away. Solas gulped nervously. Even here she looked scary...

"HO HO HO," suddenly rumbled a man, right next to his ear. Fryec shrieked, accidentally knocking his chamber pot to the street below.

The fat man's nose was mashed and bleeding. His tunic was trimmed with ridiculous white fluff, now a light brown from Sayrean dust. But his tunic! It was _red!_

"Tyrant's men – run!" cried Holdern, voice high with terror. The three boys scrambled off the bridge, tumbling down the stairs and pelting off into the street.

Santa Klaus, gene-son of His Imperial Majesty, stood victorious on the rickety iron bridge. He was still a little dizzy from that dratted girl's fist, and his nose was clogged with blood. He peered at the containers with no little interest. His nose was busted, but he knew hot chocolate when he saw it. He lifted up the pot with some effort, smacking his lips.

He – well...when a Primarch screams, it could be heard miles away.

…...

Jane and her friends watched in dismay as the boys ran screaming off the bridge. The reason for this soon became apparent as the creepy old man in red waddled into sight. She noted with some satisfaction that the man walked with a pained gait, as if his crotch was paining him. As it would have been. She just hoped he wouldn't spot them in their hideout in a deserted shop front.

They had managed to listen in on the boys' conversation as well, sniggering along as one of them had announced his plan to dump the contents of a chamber pot on the Headmistress' head. It sounded like a good plan. No one liked that sadistic harridan anyway.

_But what now? Would they come back? And if not, wait – what was the man doing?_

The man lifted a chamber pot.

"By Jovi, is he _drinking_ it?" breathed Elsie, covering her mouth.

"Oh Jovi, yes," groaned Tyna, covering her eyes.

Jane averted her eyes just as the rim of the pot reached the man's mouth.

The resulting scream was deafening.

The next time she looked, the man had somehow jumped off the bridge without breaking a single bone. He ran away with a torrent of curses and spitting all the while.

But the boys weren't coming back. The little group waited for a while, the Headmistress' cart drawing ever closer. The wind began to pick up, and the world soon became obscured by whirling dust.

"I'm going up there," Jane announced determinedly.

"It's too dangerousth! You'll get blown off!" Tyna protested, lisping all the way.

Jane hesitated for a moment. Yes, it _would_ be dangerous, but how many times did you get to pour refuse onto the Headmistress' head? She set off with a backwards glance, right into the brown haze of the desert storm.

"Be careful!" Kellie cried to her fading back.

She plunged into the dusty hurricane, gripping the bridge's guide rail with small hands as she shuffled fearfully up the stairs and towards the last chamber pot. With a free hand she wrapped her shawl around her face, slitting her eyes to keep out the stinging dust. The wagon approached, twenty metres away.

Jane lay prone on the bridge, praying to Jovi that a random gust of wind would not blow her off. She slid the pot across in front of her, ready to tip.

Ten metres.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Jane tipped the chamber pot over, holding on to it lest it fall. She was no murderer, but the shrieks of dismay made her grin. That lasted for a second before the dust wormed its way in through the cloth – making her cough and spit. She scrambled down the stairs frantically, hoping the dust would obscure their sight. She suddenly crashed into something – Elsie. They hugged tightly, giggling merrily.

"I did it! I did it!" Jane laughed, over and over again.

…...

Solas watched enviously from a shed a fair distance away. Who was that girl? He couldn't see her face in this infernal dust, just a shawl wrapped around her face.

He grinned as the pot was tipped over, the contents splashing with their distinctive slopping sound. He heard the indignant yells, and could not resist laughing aloud.

"Good on ya, girlie," he whispered. "Merry Exmass."

"AND A MERRY CHRISTMAS TO YOU, MY DEAR BOY," boomed a familiar voice.

That man!

"I SEE IT IS JUST ME AND YOU IN THIS SHED. WE ARE GETTING BORED. WANT TO DO SOMETHING FUN?" he announced suggestively.

Without warning, Solas charged, shoulder first. His shoulder tackle sunk right into the man's groin, toppling the unfortunate Primarch yet again. Solas skipped over his belly and ran out of the shed.

After a while, Santa Klaus regained his wits.

"Mrs Klaus won't be pleased," he groaned pathetically. "And Daddy's gonna kill me."

**Written on Christmas Eve, I hope you guys like it! I have no life this year – I'm sick lol. Block your chimneys! Merry Christmas!**


	25. Targren IV: Imperial Diplomacy

**Mr D Knight Of the Woo: Thanks for the add. Free free to comment!**

**Alien26: Thank you, I try lol. Omakes are always fun to write for me too.**

**Sammy Holzbein: I'm glad you like it! And the Emperor is probably Chuck Norris lol.**

**Retrebution-TheDarkAngel: Again, thanks man.**

Just a few hours later, we halted in a small clearing for a rest. Targren IV's sun was halfway up its way in the sky – which I reckoned was about 1000 hours, even though days on Targren were roughly thirty hours long. Its white brilliance flooded through the canopy and lit up the forest floor with a gentle touch.

I nearly collapsed onto the ground out of sheer exhaustion. I gingerly eased off the vox caster, sighing contentedly as my shoulders felt blessed relief. Off came my helmet. Birds chirped overhead, as if they were laughing at the flakes of dried blood sloughing off my armour vest and fatigues. Finding one of my canteens, I gratefully poured cool water down my throat, then replaced the bottle back into its pouch. I laid on my back on a bed of leaves with my bolter and helmet in easy reach – and something came over me as I looked up.

I _marvelled_.

How had I never even realised the beauty of this forest? This was a wild...utterly untamed environment – one that I had never seen on Sayre. The trees stretched up into the sky with all their arboreal majesty, crowned with a lush canopy of leaves. And the green! It was everywhere! I had never seen such lurid shades of that colour. The birds were no less exotic, all resplendent in their plumage and their eccentric shapes.

I imagined myself as an old coot on Sayre, telling the children of my many adventures among the stars.

"Pops, tell us of the places you've been!" they would exclaim.

Leaning forward on my cane, I'd look into each of their eyes in turn. "Well, I've once walked in a forest," I would rumble grouchily, to their amazed gasps. Then I would cackle merrily – and I wouldn't know to do.

_Yes, that would be the life,_ I hummed to myself.

Forests were places of magic and knights in Sayrean children's tales. I wondered if I would meet the Mighty Quinn here, or Bimborella among the flowers. Suddenly, something blotted out my vision. Something feathery tickled my nostrils, and a pair of wings fluttered.

A moth! I felt the sneeze building up.

"A...A...Ach –!" I squeezed off the sneeze inside my head, feeling that horribly uncomfortable pressure that always came with such actions. The moth took fright and flew off, jerked off by my sudden movements.

It was odd, I figured. Mighty queer to be thinking about such paltry matters after all the blood and gore of last night. But that, I supposed, was how people stayed sane. For me and Jane, it was fantasising about the future. For Sammo it was his machines. Skylan was no different, bending his mind to plundering corpses for riches.

_If war is everywhere, think about anything else!_ I figured with a grin.

There was a quiet rustle of leaves as someone settled down beside me. It couldn't be Sky; he was busy tucking away his watches into his bum-bag. I heard a muffled _oomph_ as whoever it was collapsed near me.

"Wouldst thou be inclined to tutor me in matters amorous?" That was Helfort, to be sure.

I groaned, "Urgh? Must I?"

"Yes," he replied quickly. We laughed at that, sitting up.

Looking up at the leaves above, I began to give my lecture.

"I'll try. Right, first you gotta talk like us when you're with her," I started, but Helfort cut in.

"What dost thou imply?" he asked, an aggressive edge in his voice.

"You know...Imperial Low Gothic? How 'bout this: talk like her. That way she can understand, you see? It's OK to talk like this to us, cus' we're your buddies. But with Klara, you're out to impress _her_. Yeah," I finished lamely.

Helfort was silent for a while. Then he said, "How?"

"Umm..." I mused. "Try saying 'you' instead of 'thou' or 'thee' or whatnot."

"Very well, I shall endeavour to –"

"Stop!" I commanded. "Talk normal, you know..."

I honestly didn't know what to do. How could you change how someone spoke? Skylan bumbled into view, and I had a brainwave.

"Ho, Sky, get over here!" I called softly. He turned and head towards us, polishing his shotgun.

"If Sky can understand what you're sayin', Klara can get what you say, yeah?" I whispered quickly to Helfort.

"Dost thou take me for a fool? It is _he_ that cannot speak properly." Jyon crossed his arms irritably.

"Come on, buddy," I cajoled.

"Nay," he replied flatly.

"It'll help you get Klara..." I hinted. That did the trick.

"Very well, sirrah."

"Roight, ya buggers. Ah'rm 'ere, ser what's this shebang goin', eh?" Sky announced, standing over us with his shotgun in hand.

"Sit down, Sky. Jyon here's gonna talk to you for practice." I jerked a thumb at a repulsed Helfort.

"'E kin talk? Didna' know 'e 'ad the brain cells ta' do tha'." Sky crashed down on his arse with an inelegant kick of his heels.

"What dost he say?" asked a confounded Helfort.

"What?" Sky asked me. "What 'e sayin' now, Lister?"

I sighed. Getting them to talk was like getting a cat and dog to communicate. But, as the Emperor had said at the Battle of Nouva Yourk: _Adversity makes us men_. For some reason I had been paying attention at that particular history lesson. So I tried once more, just like his Majesty had done.

"Jyon, pretend that Sky's Klara. Look, I know it's hard – but try. Sky, you're Klara," I instructed weakly.

Sky grinned. "Ah'rm just _that_ hot, huh?"

He stuck his hands under his combat vest to make a crude parody of breasts. Our combat vest was constructed from two moulded plates that overlapped each other, the top over the bottom. That gave it flexibility for afterwards, when our muscles would grow. Looking at Sergeant Jevarn, I could see it was necessary. His pectorals were huge.

Jyon looked on, aghast. "I wouldst sooner bed mine sister," he remarked.

"No doubt ya'll 'ready 'ave," was Skylan's snide reply.

_Success!_ I exulted mentally. _At least they can insult each other properly! Helfort's girl is absolutely gonna love him..._

"Alright, that was OK, I suppose," I butted in. "Jyon, give this a shot. Say 'How are you doing today?' to Sky, yeah?"

"How are th...you doing today?" he repeated slowly.

"Great, cheers," Sky snorted. "Screw this. Helfort, ah'rm gonna give ya somethin' magical. These are me 'undred percent success pick-up lines."

Sky stood up with a flourish.

"Number One! You ask 'er: Are you religious? Then she sez: Why? Then ya sez: 'Cus ya the answer to me prayers!"

"That was the stupidest line I've ever had the misfortune to hear. Do you really think they'd be religious?" came an unexpected voice. Jevarn strode past us like a walking mountain. He called over his shoulder, "We move out in two minutes."

"No," muttered Sky savagely. "But tha' ain't the point! Right, 'ow 'bout this 'un. Ya stare at their arse, then say: Ya wearing spacesuit pants? Cus tha' arse is outta this world!"

Helfort gave Sky a look of pure horror – or was it complete confusion? I felt like tearing my ears out.

"That..." I began, licking my lips. "...was absolute turds. I bet they'd kick _your_ arse into orbit."

"Well ya gotta try, huh?" Sky remarked, shrugging nonchalantly.

"Yeah, yeah," I agreed, smiling.

"Hey! I got 'nother one! Ya say: Hot damn! Ya arse is fine...wanna see mine?" he exclaimed.

There was a shocked silence, utter and complete. I think even the birds were gobsmacked with sheer disgust.

"Who..." growled Jyon. "...wishes to see thy misbegotten backside, I know not."

"I thought that was good," Sky shot back.

"You just made that up, didn't you?" I asked. "You're getting desperate, buddy."

"Bull!"

"Form up! Get into line, you little bastards! There's idolaters to kill!" called Jevarn.

With a chorus of groans we got to our feet, pulling on helmets and tucking our effects into our webbing. I felt the familiar, cursed weight of the vox caster settle on my shoulders once more, and readied myself for another eternity of aimless trekking.

…...

To my surprise, we _were_ heading somewhere. Half an hour later, a dirt road began to grow apparent in the distance, like some winding brown snake far away. As usual Squad Blue was strung out in a widely space line, and I was second-last just as last time. The day was quickly proving to be a hot one, and sweat dripped from my helmet. My fatigues sweltered and soaked under the stifling combat vest; this time thankfully not with blood, but with sweat.

To my dismay, my earpiece buzzed with Jevarn's voice.

_How am I supposed to fight like this?_ I griped sullenly.

Jevarn neither knew nor cared. His words blared obliviously through my sound piece with his distinct Terran accent.

"Bravo Two, this is Bravo One, over."

I racked my tired brain for the appropriate response. What was I supposed to say again? Nothing wiped the mind clean like thirty kilometres of hard marching.

"Um...Bravo Two, yeah – roger? Over!" I stammered, slowly recalling my vox lessons.

"Bravo One, inform the rear that the Aquila must fold its wings perpendicular to the road. Out," was his curt reply.

Right. _The Aquila must fold its wings...Which formation was that?_ I really should have paid more attention at tactical training.

_Aquila...aquila...folds its _wings_?_ Ah!

I turned around, slinging my bolter. Sky looked at me, eyes hidden in darkness under his helmet's rim. I spread my arms wide, then closed them, turning towards the road and gesturing in that direction. He shook his head in confusion.

I realised that I looked like I was having a fit, so I stopped waving my arms about. I figured I might as well speak to him, so I walked up to him.

"Sarge wants us to move facing the road, all closed in-like," I reported.

Sky responded with a grunt. "How's them hor-moans goin'?" he inquired after a pause.

"No change – just less pain. Maybe they're duds," I said hopefully. "You give 'em a try."

"Pfft. Threw 'em all away." Sky waved his hand in a desultory gesture.

"You'd better be right, buddy."

"Urngh. Yeah." He slouched bonelessly. I guess the hike was getting to him as well. He stopped being talkative when he was tired; I had seen it many times during our training.

"Yeah, swing round or something. The road's up yonder," I said, pointing at the dirt trail. He nodded, and I left him to his own devices.

Now for Helfort. Wait – where was he?

I scanned the undergrowth, looking for black armour on camouflage fatigues. I felt my skin crawl. Had some Targrenite knifed him? I gently eased my bolter from my shoulder, feeling for the safety.

_Snap._

I whirled backwards, bolter poised to shoot.

"Too slow, initiate. I would have killed you several times over without you realising," Jevarn commented caustically. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Sorry sergeant," I apologised.

"You will be," he snapped. His expression softened. "Trust your instincts, boy. They will bring you home safe."

"What home, sergeant?" I said bitterly. "I don't even live on a planet no more, let alone a family."

"You have your squad mates – your brothers. At least, if you survive. Only when you have been blooded with them in battle will you truly be brothers," he mused. "Now, snap to! Wait – I have a task for you, since you have the vox caster."

_Not another one,_ I moaned, but only in my head. I put on my best poker face.

"What'cha need, sergeant?" I asked with false brightness.

He handed me a metal block. I looked at it, bemused. It was smooth everywhere apart from one side, which was pitted with holes spaced at regular intervals. The ubiquitous Imperial Aquila was stamped on one of the broad sides.

"A translator and automated language tutor. Translator's a bit faulty, so actually learn the language. Locals here either speak Anglish Low Gothic or Russtek Low Gothic – or some bastardy of both. I only know a few words of Russtek, that infernal tongue. _Your_ job is to learn it."

"Uh, why? Ain't we just killing them?" I asked, completely dumbfounded. Then I quickly added, "Sergeant."

"As Sergeant Condor said, the fleet is still stuck out-system. Until then, we are stranded with no support...apart from those sky-eyes." He stuck a ham-like hand at the blue sky above. "I want access to the enemies' vox. Imperial Intelligence has contacted locals willing to aid us. However, Imperial Intelligence is the exact opposite of intelligent."

He scratched his nose.

"_Our_ contact – the only one in several hundred miles – this one only speaks Russtek. Also, we are here to win the love of these soon-to-be conquered people. It would do well to put on a semblance of respecting their cultures."

_Put on a semblance of respect..._ For a moment I worried about what was happening on Sayre. But Sayre was countless light years away, and I had my own problems right now. 

"S'kay, sergeant," I assured him. "Hang on, how hard is it to learn is this language?"

"Why do you think _I_ didn't bother, initiate?" Jevarn said, eyes a-glitter.

_Jovi damn, if he couldn't learn it, how can I?_

"Um...ya' know sergeant, Skylan over there looks like a _prime_ candidate for learning Russtek," I wheedled. "Not like little ol' me."

"You have the sound system, boy. Are you questioning me?" he growled menacingly. He advanced slowly.

You see, laziness was all and good, but not when it conflicted with self-preservation. I hurriedly back-pedalled and fell over a log. A protruding stick jabbed me in the seat of my pants.

"Right there you are, sergeant! I _totally_ wanna learn Russtek!"

_'As if...'_ I was really thinking. I shifted a little, trying to dislodge that annoying stick.

"Good. There is a panel on the left side of your vox caster. Open it and plug the device in – they say it plays through the recordings."

I did as I was instructed. But nothing came out of my earpiece.

"Eh sergeant? This contraption ain't working," I complained.

He raised an eyebrow, and bent down to fiddle with the vox caster. I sneaked a glance behind at Sky. He was busy eating out of a tin. As I watched a bit of food dropped out of his mouth and onto the ground. He picked it up and downed it without a second glance.

"There! All set," Jevarn said. He pulled out a scrap of paper. "The instruction manual says to 'Tap earpiece once to begin tutelage' and 'Tap earpiece twice to change to vox channel'. Understood?"

"How 'bout rewind and pause, sergeant?" I queried.

He read the paper again. "The manual says to rewind or fast-forward twist the interference modulator clockwise or anti-clockwise respectively. To pause...you press down on the knob."

Hot damn, they had everything thought out. The interference modulator was a rather useless device. You had to be underwater for it to do its job.

"OK. But how can you tell me what to do if something comes up, sergeant?"

He glared at me. "Keep your eyes wide open, or stick something up your arse. I've heard that helps inattentive soldiers stay awake."

He slid away without a second glance. A few minutes later the line began to move towards the road.

_Might as well get started,_ I groused.

Tap.

…...

A cool female voice filled my left ear as we prepared to cross the dirt road. We had to do it one by one – just in case an enemy patrol came across us and obliterated the entire squad. This way, however, only one of us would die if that happened.

It was not a comforting thought.

We crouched in a ditch twenty metres from the road. Despite the danger, I wasn't paying much attention, instead focusing on my Russtek lessons.

"Welcome to the Automated Language Instructor (Comprehensive Edition). Nomenclature designated for this unit is ALICE. Language selected: Russtek Low Gothic. Commencing. Lesson One. Repeat after me. _Ding dong ding ah dong dong._"

Russtek Gothic was so..._stupid_. I couldn't make head or tail of it.

" _Ding dong ding ah dong dong_ means 'I surrender'. Repeat after me: _Ding dong ding ah dong dong. _Phrase is useful in diplomatic situations."

I tried it, probably butchering the language as I went.

"Lesson Two. _Ding dong ding ah dong dong_ means 'Please speak Russtek'. Repeat after me: _Ding dong ding ah dong dong_. Phrase is useful in social situations."

Please speak Russtek? _Please speak Russtek?_ I didn't need to say that – the Targrenites had to!

Nevertheless, I did as ALICE told me.

"Lesson Three. _Ding dong ding ah dong dong_ means 'Please surrender, mangy cur!' Repeat after me: _Ding dong ding ah dong dong._ Phrase is useful in diplomatic situations."

That might come in useful. I repeated it, painfully aware that everything sounded the same in Russtek.

"Go!" I faintly heard Jevarn say. Mogas scrambled out of the ditch and across the road, disappearing into the foliage on the other side.

"Lesson Four. _Ding dong ding ah dong dong_ means 'I think your car looks nice'. Repeat after me: _Ding dong ding ah dong dong_. Phrase is useful in social situations."

"Go! Go! Go!" Half the squad was across at this point, I suddenly realised. But Russtek was so fascinating, since I figured I was picking it up.

"Lesson Five. _Ding dong ding ah dong dong_ means 'Get lost you clap-ridden, impotent transvestite!' Repeat after me: _Ding dong ding ah dong dong_. Phrase is useful in social situations."

" _Ding dong ding ah dong dong,"_ I repeated faithfully.

"Go! Go!" snapped Jevarn, sending Helfort and Sernax over at thirty second intervals.

"Lesson Six. _Ding dong ding ah dong dong_ means 'hello'. Repeat after me: _Ding dong ding ah dong dong_. Phrase is useful in social situations."

_Now_ they teach me how to say hello? Isn't that the first thing you're supposed to learn that first for _any_ language? I had learnt 'I surrender' first instead.

In a flash of insight, I figured that the person who had designed this was probably lacking in brain cells, and even more so in the balls department.

"Go!" snapped Jevarn. He was looking at me.

I crawled out of the ditch, rising unsteadily to my feet. The vox caster jiggling and slipped about, obviously not secured properly. I took hold of one the shoulder straps in one hand, and carried my bolter in the other. My boots thumped on the hard-packed ground.

"Lesson Seven, _Ding dong ding ah dong dong_ means 'May I have a lift'. Repeat after me: _Ding dong ding ah dong dong_. Phrase is useful in –"

ALICE cut off – replaced by Jevarn's voice.

"GET OFF THE ROAD! HOSTILES INCOMING!" he roared across the airwaves.

I looked to my left. There was a cloud of dust rising in the distance, billowing and frothing madly. My mind snapped back to that chase across the desert back on Sayre – the one where we had dragged Alaris along with our tow chains. The pursuing tanks; they had kicked up a cloud just like that...

Then the enormity of the situation dawned on me. _Get off the road, you idiot!_ I yelled to myself. Or was that Jevarn on the radio?

I never knew. I frantically dived back to where I had came from, tumbling into the ditch on top of Skylan. I just hoped that armoured convoy hadn't spotted me. I knew it was hard to see ahead when the vehicle ahead of you was blowing up a dust storm in your windshield. However, I knew all too well that the front vehicle had none of that problem. I prayed to Jovi that the lead driver hadn't spotted me.

I felt an elbow jab me in the leg.

"Ge'roff me, bra," Sky grumbled. I mumbled a 'sorry' and clambered off the red-haired Feckulian.

Jevarn was peering at the approaching brown cloud, scowling all the while.

"What now, sergeant?" I asked nervously. If those tanks or trucks stopped, it was all my fault.

"Prepare for combat. If those are tracked tanks, we'll need to toss our hand-bombs down their hatches. You two have explosives, I recall, no?" he instructed, voice flat.

"In me bum-bag, serge," muttered Sky bashfully. We looked at each other.

"Same," I mumbled. "I'll get them now, kay, sergeant?"

The sergeant stared at us. "Of course not. Why blow up the inside of a tank when you can just hit the outside with your bolter grips? Let your bum-bags keep the grenades. They'll be needing it more than you in a fire-fight. I'd sleep better if your bum-bags stayed well supplied in munitions. I'm sure their responsible bum-bags."

We gaped at him. What was Jevarn smoking? Oh hang on...

Was that _sarcasm_?

"Um..." Sky began.

"Get your _bloody_ grenades from your _bloody_ bum bags!" our sergeant snarled ferociously, his face a beetroot red. A vein began throbbing at his temple.

We frantically obliged him. I tucked my grenades in my pockets, feeling their weight tug at the waistband of my pants. I was glad Jane's belt was their to hold them out. I touched it for luck, hands shaking just a little.

"Alright, that's a military convoy," Jevarn reported grimly.

"How so, sergeant?" I wished desperately that he was wrong, but my ears said otherwise. There was something about the pitch of those engines that reminded me of the fighting on Sayre.

"Hear that? The noise those engines make – it's low, and it's loud. Military convoys, they usually have to go through some fairly nasty terrain, so they need that sort of motive power to get them around."

My heart sank, my suspicions confirmed.

"We don't have any anti-armour weaponry, so we have to climb on top of those tanks if they stop. The trick is to pull the pin _before_ you jump on the top, and throw it in at the last minute. That way the bastards inside can't throw it back out. If their sides are covered in barbed wire, jump on it with your vest, and let your partner jump on top of you," Jevarn continued, slipping off the safety. "I don't want to force an engagement, but it sounds like they're slowing down."

I suddenly recalled one of the inspirational posters back on the corridors of the _Armageddon Knight_. It featured a dead Imperial Army private lying face down, bleeding, on a thicket of wickedly sharp razor wire. Muddy brown bootprints covered his entire back, where his comrades had stepped on him and over the wire. The inscription below read: ==_SELFLESSLY DID THIS HERO DIE FOR THE GLORY OF MANKIND==._ I certainly didn't plan on being that poor martyr. The thought of _me_ lying face down in the dirt and bleeding nearly made me wet my pants.

"Shit," was Sky's comment. "No good."

"Indeed," Jevarn replied dryly. "If you aim for destroy the trucks, lob your grenades into the back compartment. If there are enemy soldiers inside – that is good. If there are volatile materiel or munitions – even better. Initiate Lister, aim for the fuel tanks with your bolter. Inert slugs usually do nothing, but bolter rounds are able to set off fuel."

I readied my bolter, jittery. Jevarn looked over at the other side.

"It is a good thing that you two idiots are here with me. Trigger-happy whelps. Those on the other side at least have some sort of fire discipline," he said flippantly.

I said nothing, tongue-tied with anxiety. This fight was in broad daylight. There was no element of surprise and no shadows to hide in. And I had nothing to urge me on, no cause to fight for. I really had...nothing.

"If these Targrenite idolaters stop and begin searching, we must alert the rest of Squad Blue," the sergeant mused.

"I should've gone over, right?" I asked miserably.

I felt like I was useless. And I was scared to death. _Useless coward,_ a voice sneered at me. _Can't fight like a man huh? Can't fight if the enemy can fight back, huh?_

And it was true. Back on Sayre, all my fights were on the back of a truck. I was protected by both the truck's heavy armour and its sheer speed. Even when we stormed the Tyrant's citadel we had surprise on our side, with Alaris shielding us. Last night was no different. Half of that Targrenite squad was dead before they even realised what was happening.

_You ain't no man, Lister. You ain't got balls. Can't take no hits. Now they got the tanks, they got the trucks. You're useless, and you're gonna die,_ that evil voice in me continued.

And I believed it.

"Yes. But what is done is done. Castigations come later. Very well, if the enemy is alerted, we start shooting on my mark," Jevarn said calmly. "We yell 'For the Emperor' on my command. That ought to be as unambiguous as a battle cry can get."

We nodded.

Jevarn began to ease into a firing position, but stopped to look at us.

"And keep your thick heads down!" he snapped. "I don't believe in praise, because people always get swollen heads from that. But you two are capable enough – so snap to! Remember your training, follow your instincts and you'll be fine. Keep your heads down, always remember that!"

I was...capable? I felt a surge of pride. What Jevarn had said were the first words of praise he had ever said to me. I took a deep breath.

_I can do this. The enemies' gonna shoot at me, and I'm gonna shoot right back. I'm gonna kill them. I can do this!_

Off went my safety, my hands shaking a little less now. My mouth was dry.

"I'll look ou' fer ya', Lister bra." Skylan settled next to me, training his shotgun on the road. The convoy was nearly upon us.

"I'll – I'll d-do the same," I stuttered. He grinned at me in reply.

"Knew ya would. That's wha' bruddas are for, hey?" he laughed shakily. I was glad that it wasn't only me who was afraid.

"Silence, now! Let us hope they pass us by," hissed Jevarn.

We shut up immediately. The area was now filled with the roar of mighty traction engines, and well as the softer bass growl of truck engines. I heard them slow, and dwindle to a halt.

"Mighty Jovi, Almighty in Elysia, please see fit to spare my squad and I, for we are all servants to your will," I whispered under my breath.

My fingers clenched my bolter so hard that the joints went white. Sweat rolled down from the brim of my helmet to drip onto the ground. Summoning what courage remained, I poked my head over the top of the ditch.

Th convoy had stopped. Two tanks at the front, sporting revolving turrets with double barrels each. The rest of their armour was smooth and unbroken, with no sponsons. Three trucks sat behind them, with high canvas tenting covering whatever was their cargo. There was a loud _beep_ was one of their horns sounded. I could recognise an angry voice anywhere.

"_Ding dong ding ah dong dong_!" yelled a truck driver in Russtek, at such a speed at it was gibberish to me.

The hatch of the lead tank popped open, and a man stuck his head out.

"_Ding dong ding ah dong dong! Ding dong ding ah dong dong! _Give me a second, _ding!"_ I couldn't make sense of any of it.

And so it continued, until I heard the word 'Imperiazi'. I stiffened. That meant _us_.

"Sergeant, they're talking about us..." I warned.

"Then get ready to duck," he replied curtly.

The yelled conversation ended, the truck driver gunning his engine. The convoy slowly began to move once more, but the lead tank commander stayed in his cupola, gazing thoughtfully at the trees. I breathed a sigh of relief, but kept my eyes firmly on the man.

I saw his hands move, one to his ear and the other gripping the rim of his hatch. Even in the distance, the small smile he gave chilled me to the bone.

A noise started to cut the air.

_Whreeeeeee..._

Suddenly, inexplicably, the turrets of the two tanks swivelled, one to the left, one to the right. Sky cursed, dropping to the bottom of the ditch.

Then the world turned to hell.

…...

_DANG-DANG-DANG-DANG-DANG!_

I screamed shamelessly as trees exploded around me. Splinters and bits of wood flew through the air. I squeezed my eyes shut in terror.

_DANG-DANG-DANG-DANG-DANG!_

I toppled into the ditch, eyes still shut with my hands over my ears to muffle the monstrous booming. There was yelling, gunfire spraying the trees around us. I felt a wet gash across my forehead. I felt something trickle, and suddenly my eyes were filled with red.

Blood! Blood! I was bleeding!

_DANG-DANG-DANG-DANG-DANG!_

I screamed again, huddling in a foetal ball in the ditch. My bolter was forgotten somewhere near me.

I felt a rough hand pull me to my knees. I lashed out, hitting something hard.

_Wham!_

A stunning blow sent me reeling. The hand hauled me up again. Jevarn's words hammered at my ringing ears.

"Get up, you miserable coward! GET THE FRAK UP!"

_DANG-DANG-DANG-DANG-DANG!_

Jevarn dived down on top of me. I gasped as the air was driven out of me. A splinter pierced the skin right next to my right eye. I clutched it and pulled. One more inch and my eye would have been history.

"GET UP!" he repeated. "What are you – some sodding little girl?"

That did for me. I spat a curse at the sergeant, heaving myself up. My hand closed around my dropped bolter. I brought it up, and planted it it at the lip of the ditch. My lips curled in fury. A red mist of anger settled over my sight.

Nobody – _nobody_, calls me a little girl.

_DANG-DANG-DANG-DANG-DANG!_

Again I ducked, wood shards clattering against my helmet and vest. I cussed ferociously as one wormed its way through a gap and into my neck. I wrenched it out without a second glance, popping back up as soon as the tank salvo had finished.

Fucking _nobody _calls me a little girl!

Bullets whined and hissed around me, operated by a tank commander manning a machine gun mounted at the lip of his hatch. Jevarn put him down with contempt ease, the fresh corpse draped halfway out of the tank. But Targrenite soldiers were already spilling out of the rear-most truck!

I noticed in a surreal moment of calm that the second-last truck had crashed into the rear of the lead truck. Indignant yells mixed with fearful cries leaked out from the gap between the immobile transports.

Jevarn's stentorian voice rose over the din.

"Give them hell, soldiers of Terra! Sons of the Imperium, who do we fight for?" he roared.

That was our cue.

"For the Emperor!" we howled back.

"I can't hear you! Did I hear mice, or did I hear _men_?" he snarled.

"FOR THE EMPEROR!" My voice broke, so hard was I shouting.

As if on cue, guns opened up on the other side of the road, sowing carnage among the confused soldiers fresh out from the rearmost truck. I heard the vicious rumble of Sernax's heavy bolter, which cut a swathe through the hapless Targrenites. We cheered mightily, barely ducking as the tanks spat high calibre death in our direction; such was our elation.

"Safeties off, lads!" Jevarn yelled as soon as the latest barrage was over. He pointed at the foremost truck, with the trapped men inside. "Initiate Skylan, blast a hole in the side of the canvas – I'll put a grenade through! Lister, kill the driver. Quickly now!" 

"Aye aye, serge!" Sky swept up his shotgun, leaping out of the ditch and fearlessly charging the truck. He had be close to make a large hole with his weapon.

The truck driver spotted him, pointing and sending a slug round at my friend. It kicked up a plume of dust next to his running boots. The man aimed for another, but my sights were already on his head.

The bolter bucked, the man's head exploding milliseconds later. I coughed at the acrid smell of cordite, noting with morbid satisfaction the syrupy brain matter splattered over the truck's windshield. My blood was up now – woe to all in my way!

To my left the sergeant pulled out the pin of his grenade with his teeth. He spat it on the ground, smiling at me.

"Seven marines, six marines, five marines..."

_DANG-DANG-DANG-DANG-DANG!_

Both salvos were aimed at the other side of the road, where most of the squad was concentrated. The tanks had noticed the slaughter going on at the back. Just too late. To their credit, our enemy had hunkered down in the ruins of their truck. They fired ragged, but determined volleys of fire at the other side of the road. Our antics went fairly unnoticed.

_Boom!_

The thunderous clap of Sky's shotgun snapped my eyes back to him. A hole appeared in the side of the canvas tenting. Desperate hands clawed out of the gap.

"_Ding dong ding ah dong dong!_" For once, I understood. "I surrender!"

But Skylan didn't. He wouldn't have none of that. Another shot of his churned apart both the hands and more, leaving a spray of blood and gore.

"Three marines, two marines – FIRE IN THE HOLE!"

Sky leaped back towards the ditch, legs a-pumping. The grenade flew straight almost straight into the hole, propelled by Jevarn's phenomenal strength.

The truck shook once, mightily. Then it was still. The canvas was already darkening – with blood! I gagged, previous blood lust all but forgotten.

Sky slid back into the ditch, grinning. There was blood on his face.

"Ah' showed 'em!" he exulted. I couldn't help but laugh with him.

"Those tanks are still a threat," our sergeant snapped. "I'll take those hold-outs over there. Start pitching grenades into those tanks."

He motioned towards the Targrenites huddled in the wreckage of the trucks. Things didn't look good for them. Sernax's heavy bolter fire had them pinned, and I could see Helfort and Argeh sneaking up on the position with chainswords. Jevarn began firing on the panicking soldiers, his bolter's percussive roar deafening my already abused ears.

"Ready Lister?" Sky bent his head close to mine. I gathered he was as deaf as me.

"Alright," I replied. I grabbed his arm just as we were about to go up. "Wait. If I die, can you visit Sayre sometime? Her name's Jane Dell. Tell Jane I like – no, love her!"

He looked at me strangely. "Righto, bra. I'll do that."

"Thanks Sky." I clapped him on the shoulder. "Let's do this!"

We cleared the lip of the ditch. My helmet bumped and wobbled as I sprinted towards the second tank. Bullets whined and ricocheted. I yelped as two nicked me in the legs.

"Too steep! Ah' cain't climb it!" Sky shouted frantically.

The tank's sides were too sheer for us to climb. Too smooth to boot. A wall of dull green steel confronted us. Jovi damn! We were sitting ducks!

Sky had a different idea. He slung his shotgun on his shoulder, inching up next to the tank. He put his hands together.

_DANG-DANG-DANG-DANG-DANG!_

We painfully stoppered our ears. The percussion made my bones shake and tingle.

I couldn't hear anything. Sky's mouth moved. He gestured. I felt my throat go hoarse, and I realised I was screaming uncontrollably.

Sky made frantically jumping motions. I stared at him in a dazed fugue. He pointed at the side of the tank, and jabbed a finger at his hand.

_His hand?_ My addled mind fizzed and died.

"Jump on me 'ands!" I heard faintly. That was Sky! "Jump on me 'ands! Ah'll push ya up!"

I nodded, understanding.

_DANG-DANG-DANG-DANG-DANG!_

Hopefully the tank crew was as deaf as I was. Ske crouched, hands cupped. I slung my bolter and pulled a grenade from my pockets.

_I can do this..._ I thought determinedly.

My fingers closed around the pin.

_Do or die. Do or die. Do or die._

Once I pulled that bit of metal, there was no going back. If I messed up, we would both die.

So I pulled.

The pin moved, slipping out of the grenade. My fingers tightened instinctively around the round ball. The world slowed for me.

Sprays of dust exploded around me. Bullets flew.

_Seven marines, six marines..._

The corpse began to move. Hands tugged and pushed at it from the inside.

_Five marines, four marines..._

The utter look of trust in Sky's eyes. The way his blood ran down his face, winding and weaving.

_Three marines...go! Go!_

I felt my legs move, and Sky knelt. A puff of dirt rose from beneath his knee. I jumped.

Boot met palm solidly. Sky _heaved_, throwing me up into the air. For an instant, I was flying.

"Oomph!" The breath was knocked out of me. I flung the grenade in the hatch as I landed, a perfect slam-dunk. I heard a panicked scream. A plume of shrapnel and viscera was blown out a moment later.

I rose unsteadily to my feet. My bolter was unslung, and I poked it in the hatch. My arms shook as I emptied an entire clip into the steel coffin. Just to make sure.

Skylan cheered. I grinned back, exulting.

Suddenly, the other tank's turret swivelled at me. I stared down the vengeful twin barrels. I saw death, and my legs turned to jelly.

_DANG-DANG-DANG-DANG-DANG!_

But something possessed me. Something in me would not, _could not_ let me die. I flung myself backwards off the dead tank. The shells passed inches above. Their path burned lines across my face.

I landed with a painful yell. I had jarred my shoulder, badly. But I savoured the pain. I was _alive_.

Skylan hustled me to my feet.

"Bloody brilliant, bra!" he yelled. My hearing was returning. "Now let's off tha' other tank!"

I paused to look how the rest of the squad was doing. Sernax's bolter spoke incessantly. Every few seconds a shotgun's signature _boom_ would sound, blasting apart metal and flesh alike. I cried out in dismay as a black vested figure was slammed back – gore erupting from his eye. His chainsword clattered to the ground.

"No!" I cried out without thinking.

_Was that Helfort? Helfort!_ I thought frantically.

I knew that the only chainsword wielding initiates were Argeh and Helfort. To my eternal shame, I prayed for the Hibernian to be spared.

Then the battle whirled me away. Sky tugged at my sleeve.

"There's still that other tank!"

We ducked as a stray bullet bounced off the armour plating. We glanced at each other, laughing. Cheating death was an addictive thing.

I poked my head around the side of the dead tank. With a yelp I jerked back just in time.

_DANG-DANG-DANG-DANG-DANG!_

The shells hammered their way into the ground a few feet away. If I had stayed for a second later, my head would have been pulp. Those tank rounds were non-explosive, but they were at least fifteen centimetres wide.

"I'm started to get fair pissed at that tank!" I yelled, after my ears stopped ringing.

Sky looked around the side. He dived back in a mere moment later.

_DANG-DANG-DANG-DANG-DANG!_

"Fuckin' motherless son'uve a bitch! Bah Toorett, the guy's got it fer us!" he snarled, his face streaked with soot. He coughed and spat into the dirt.

I picked up a stone and threw it out. The tank immediately fired.

_DANG-DANG-DANG-DANG-DANG!_

"The tank's got its bead on us," I remarked acidly. At this point my ears had already gotten used to the dreadful racket. "That ain't fair!"

We were pinned. Trapped between the rear of the dead tank and the wrecked truck that Jevarn had destroyed. I looked up at the cracked windshield and the blood already drying on it. I was glad I couldn't see the headless corpse I had made.

_DANG-DANG-DANG-DANG-DANG!_

The bastards in the tank shot again, trying to flush us out. I heard a rumble. Those were engines!

"Tank's movin'!" hissed Skylan. "Git ready!"

We peeked from opposite sides of the tank. I jerked back from my side – the side we had recently vacated. No doubt the Targrenite traction engine would be swarmed by initiates if it went to the other side. I heard a familiar screech.

_Whreeee..._

"Scram!" I shoved the Feckulian to the opposite side.

_DANG-DANG-DANG-DANG-DANG!_

Our tank rocked and shuddered from the fearful barrage. With a scream of tortured metal a piece of plating was ripped off. I stared in shock as it landed a foot away from me, smoking.

"Fuck fuck fuck-fuck-fuck." Whether Sky was praying to his god or just annoyed wasn't clear.

I shot a glance at the fight down the road. It was already dying down. One of us had managed to get into the enemy with his chainsword. I saw a flash of dirty yellow hair. With a relieved grin, I realised Helfort was still alive. Poor Argeh had black hair.

I sidled to the far corner of the tank. This Targrenite tank was shaped like a rectangle, and right now we were on the long side. I coughed as I breathed in smoke. Something was burning up the road.

With a sense of dread I looked around my corner. I tensed ready to duck back. I saw a flash of dull green. That was the back of the tank going into the bushes!

"Whatcha see?" Sky called, reloading his shotgun.

"Those bastard's going into the trees!" I shouted angrily.

"What! Tha' yeller, scum-suckin' tosser!" he roared, spit flying. He shook a fist at the trees. "Come back 'ere, coward!"

"Then _let's get them!_" I retorted.

That tank had caused enough grief. It needed to _die_.

We pelted back to our original position, sliding into the ditch. I ignored the sharp pebbles and sticks jabbing me. Fire coursed through my veins.

"Bravo One, this is Br-Lister! Tank on our side! Over!" I yelled into the radio. Stuff protocol!

"Bravo One, roger. Moving to engage. You engage as well. Out."

"Sarge is going after the tank as well!" I reported. Sky nodded.

"We'll make tha' hunk a' junk their coffin, eh?" he grunted.

I noticed he was clutching his side with a hand. He wiped the hand on his pants. They came away bloody.

"Ya'll right there?" I asked, suddenly concerned.

"Didna' notice it before," he replied with some effort. "Me guts ain't 'angin' out, yeah. But it hurts bad, man."

"Shit," I cursed. "Lemme see."

He tried brushing me away weakly. "It ain't nothing. Ain't nothin'," he kept repeating.

I pulled off his armour, and tugged up his shirt. I winced at the sight of it.

The pale skin over his lower side was torn and blackened underneath. Blood oozed from a deep gash near the base of his ribs, on the right side. Something looked..._bent_ under that. A cold, clinical part of my mind figured that something had broken his ribs.

"How?" I shouted over the din of the tank firing. "How dammit?"

"Ah' think...ah' think one of them tanks slugs clipped me," he gasped. "Thought...I...was...fine."

"Well you ain't," I said bitterly, almost sobbing. "Something's broke down there."

He coughed. He spat. The spittle was bloody.

"Gimme one of ya painkillers." His speech dissolved into a fit of coughing. "Comon!"

I wordlessly dug into my bum-bag. He took the vial with a small smile of thanks.

"You-you really shouldn't be moving," I stammered, worried sick. "I can handle this, I hope." 

"Piss off!" he snorted, some colour returning to his cheeks. "Ol' Skylan 'ere is as good as new."

He suddenly broke into a fit of coughing. He swore, and I couldn't help but smile. Almost as good as new.

_DANG-DANG-DANG-DANG-DANG!_

The tank's gun spoke again, kicking up fountains of dirt near Sernax's position. I watched in horror as the heavy bolter fire stopped. But a moment it started up again from a different place. I grinned. Sernax might have funny ideas, but he was tenacious.

The radio-vox crackled.

"Bravo Two, where the hell are you? The tank's buttoned up – we have to stop it! Over!"

I didn't bother to reply. With a grunt and a heave I helped Skylan up.

"Where to?" he panted. The Feckulian hastily buckled up his armour.

"The noise," I grimly replied. "That thing's dead."

So we readied out weapons, horribly aware how useless they would be against that armoured monstrosity. Jevarn was up ahead, playing a deadly game of cat-and-mouse with the frustrated tank crew. He noticed us.

"The vision slit! Fire in the vision slit!" he hollered manically, sweating profusely.

Jovi damn! The vision slit was about two inches wide! You had to be in right front of the tank to even shoot!

Jevarn swore as he tried again. The tank's engine growled and revved. It bucked and jerked forwards restlessly, throwing our sergeant off and threatening to crush him. He rolled away just in time. Sky ran forwards.

"Ah'll git on top and try git the slit!" he yelled over his shoulder.

He wrenched himself up onto a tree, right arm dangling uselessly. He waited for the tank to come by, and dropped heavily onto it.

"Roight ya fuckers! Ya gonna wish yer was never born!" he was screaming incoherently.

Jevarn closed in on me. "We have to stop the tank from moving. Stick a hand bomb in the tracks on the right side – I'll do the other side."

I pointed at Sky as I ran forwards. "We might hurt him!"

Jevarn shook his head. "Initiate Skylan is just a distraction. He's going to get knocked off fairly quickly."

As if to prove the sergeant's point, Sky went flying by a moment later.

"AAAAARRRGGGHH!" he yelled.

He was clinging onto the twin barrels for dear life. The vision slit was located under the turret. I reckoned Sky must have been knocked off when he had tried to climb down.

_Shit!_

My eyes widened as I saw where the barrels were swinging. Straight into a tree! I shouted a warning, but there was no need.

Sky had noticed too, and dropped just in time. From the cussing that erupted he was probably alive.

The tank's treads loomed ahead of me. Jevarn was ahead, on the other side of the tank.

_DANG-DANG-DANG-DANG-DANG!_

The tank fired again at my squad mates. I felt something inside my ears pop, and warm trickles ran down from them.

Now completely deaf, I pulled the pin of a grenade. With a vindictive grin I wedged it into the assembly. I dove behind a tree as soon as I had finished.

I felt the explosion rather than heard it. To my dismay, the ground still trembled under my feet.

_That bloody tank is still alive?_ I cursed.

The machine rumbled by a moment later, as if mocking me. It trundled about, searching for us. Regular bursts of cannon fire kept the rest of my squad from coming to our aid. I fired my bolter in hopeless anger.

_Jovi cursed piece of adamantium junk! Dead weight!_ I railed.

Then, suddenly, I had a brainwave. Techmarine Ferros' words came back to me.

"_Adamantium is the strongest known substance in the known galaxy. The balance between brittleness to malleability is second to none."_

That was it! If I could just jam this damn thing between the tracks, the tank _could_ be stopped!

Without a second thought, I sprang out of cover and charged the tank. I saw the barrels swing around.

On I charged.

The big guns spoke. But my ruined ears heard nothing.

On I charged.

I felt the searing kiss of the shells' infernal flight as they passed over me. I gritted my teeth. I was under their arc of fire now!

Too late, they realised the danger. The tank began to frantically reverse.

Straight into a steep slope!

Normally, that would have posed no problem to the mighty traction engine. But it slowed it down for a second.

And that was all I needed.

With one final leap I was next to the tracks. I felt myself shout as I shoved my bolter into the tracks, barrel first. It stuck.

The tank moved up, or tried to. The bolter bent with an ear-splitting screech that even I could hear. But it held, and the tank was trapped!

I pulled out Jane's pistol with a guttural snarl. Time to finish this!

I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder. Sky grinned triumphantly and said something to me. His lips moved, but there was no sound. I shook my head, tapping my bleeding ears. He seemed to nod with understanding, brandishing his shotgun and pointing at the vision slit. Jevarn came up behind us, and gestured to Skylan. Even without my ears I could tell what he was saying.

_You may do the honours_.

Without hesitation Sky jammed the shotgun into the slit. I felt the cannons fire over us one last time in defiance. Then his arms bucked, again and again. I found myself smiling.

_Good riddance, you Jovi cursed tank!_

I saw Jevarn beckon Helfort over. The sergeant took his chainsword and leapt on top of the tank.

The Hibernian and I locked eyes. I threw him a weary salute and he smiled, streaks of blood decorating his features. He said something, but the words eluded my deaf ears.

A fountain of sparks gouted as the sergeant carved into the tank's closed hatch. I could see from the way his arms strained that it was a mighty effort. After a while, he stood back and drew the chainsword out. He kicked the hatch in. Something sparked off his armour, and he reached in with a ferocious scowl.

He tore a bloodied man out of the tank. Half of his arm had been blown off, and a small pistol dropped from his other hand that was shaking fitfully. The man's mouth moved, babbling. He was pleading for his life.

This time, I had no pity. Here was the men – or one of the men that had conspired to kill us. They had nearly gotten Skylan, damn them.

Jevarn's face hardened, and with a flick Helfort's chainsword was buried in my enemy's chest. I looked away as the man was carved in half. Some things did not bear watching.

I looked back a second later. The sergeant had his chainsword raised in salute. The squad was cheering soundlessly. I sank to my knees, suddenly weary to the bone.

At least the fight was over.

**Can I get some pointers if this action scene isn't up to scratch? I hope you all had a happy new year. 100000 words, hell yeah lol! See you next time!**


	26. Targren IV: Darkening Skies

**Sammy Holzbein: Haha I'm glad you liked the jokes. I reckon a few of your questions will be answered in this chapter. Thanks for reading.**

**Alien26: Hmm, I can't answer that as of yet, but this chapter might answer a bit of that. Again, thank you for reviewing. **

**Big fan: Thanks for the reviews mate. I hope you didn't stop reviewing because the story got worse for you after that, right? You got me anxious here lol.**

**Author's note: I'm back from my trip overseas. I realised it has been more than a month, and would like to apologise to everyone. Urgh, I started uni a week late as well lol. Well, I found time to continue this story, so look out for more chapters! **

"Penny for yer thoughts," Sky suddenly said, walking beside me.

It had been a scarce hour after that gruelling battle with the convoy. Almost immediately Sergeant Jevarn had ordered us to continue our march to that 'contact' of his. We disappeared into the ever-thickening forest, plunging into the foothills of a towering mountain range. Its majestic silhouette loomed proudly above the trees, growing and shrinking slightly as we hiked across the rolling terrain.

In a strange twist of fate, one of my battered ears started working again soon after the fight had finished. Jevarn had shone a torch into my left first, telling me irritably that the ear drum had burst. My right ear had just been rattled. Luckily, my sergeant had said that the damage was not permanent. But until then, I would have to cope with a world of muffled and distorted sound. It was far from a pleasant experience.

I felt empty, drained – as if the fire of battle had burned down to ashes within me. My thoughts kept going back to poor, dead Argeh and how he had died. His shrouded body was draped over Jevarn's broad shoulder. Was it just me, or were the sergeant's shoulders just a little slumped? Surely not from the weight, but perhaps from the crushing guilt of sending one of his men – no, a boy to his death?

But maybe it was _my_ fault. My inattention had brought the convoy onto us. I couldn't bear the thought of that. Try as I might, I could not draw any comfort from the fact that we were fighting for a good cause, like in the SFL.

Because simply, there was no cause to begin with.

I fought for the Emperor – a bloody tyrant wanted to grind the entire sodding galaxy under his heel!

How low was that? To bring war upon people, not because they overtaxed you, not because they terrorised you, because they refused to wear your colours! Maybe _that_ was why Jevarn –

No. That man would never feel guilt. I had looked into his eyes many times, and there was not a shred of remorse in them.

In his usual manner, Skylan shattered those mutinous thoughts with the tact of a sledgehammer.

"Hey, ya there?" he asked, waving a hand in my face. "Ya didn't git clipped in the head, right?"

The Feckulian grinned cheerily at me, a stained bandage wrapped over his forehead. His head had met a tree trunk when the final tank had swung him off. But that smile held hidden pain. His ribs were still cracked, and all we could do was wrap a bandage around his chest and hope for the best. Our chances of escape were growing dimmer by the minute.

"Do...do you bad about Argeh?" I croaked, voice cracking. I had not spoken for over an hour.

He gave me a quizzical look.

"Didna' know the fella. Can't say ah' do," Skylan replied. With a wince he rubbed his chest.

"Well, that could've been us, you know," I said, hoping he would take the hint.

"It weren't us, bra. It was some bloody feral worlder who didn't speak Gothic or nuthin'. Ta' me, tha' fella was cannon fodder, and we oughter take that as a blessing tha' he served his purpose. 'E weren't a person ta' me, ser' ah' don't see why yer so worried about him," Sky snorted, ever the pragmatist.

For a moment, I was nonplussed. How could anyone ever think like that?

"Ya' live, ya' die – ain't nuthin' to it," he continued. "Hell, death's the _only_ thing yer ever gonna be certain of."

"There's more to life than that, buddy," I cut in earnestly. "You got to believe in something –"

"'Course there is! Just a matter of what ya' believe in. But the question is, are ya' strong enough ta' make them beliefs stick, and ta' do sommat' with 'em? Strong enough ta' _live_?"

I paused, and thought. Sky just kept going.

"It was like tha' on Fecky," he reminisced. "Ain't much difference between life and death. One second yer strollin' about, the next there's a knife stickin' outta ya' chest. No different 'ere, I'd say. But ah' see yer actin' a bit funny now. Ya' took to the battle poorly, eh?"

I shook my head. "I've fought before."

He looked confused. "Then what's the matter?" he asked.

I waved a hand back in the direction of the battle.

"I just realised something," I confessed. "We ain't fighting for a _real_ reason. We're murdering people who were protecting their homes. See, back home – on Sayre I mean, I was part of the Sayrean Freedom League. That's what I was fighting for: freedom. Now I never chose to fight for the Imperium, they helped us – really because we were conveniently there to help _them_, you see?"

"Hmm..." was Skylan's muted reply.

"Shit, now I come here, after being tortured and cut apart. I _hate_ it, you know that? I absolutely loathe it. Now I see Mogas being shot – hell, how old was he anyway?"

"Dunno. But didn't ya' Freedom League or whatnot use kids like you?" Sky drawled laconically.

"Yeah, but we had a real reason to. You know why? Cus' the Tyrant we were fighting against was going to send us to fight the Luna Wolves. We didn't even have automatic guns, for Jovi's sake! No, these were guns where you shot _one_ bullet, pulled back the lever, and by the time you're finished, the Jovi-damned enemy's on top of you!" I snarled, clenching my fists.

"Hell! On Sayre, if you were old enough to hold a gun, you were old enough to get shot! That's how it worked, Skylan. So I _had_ to fight there. And I fought for a damn good cause. Liberty. I fought for my friends, my neighbours, my girl. I fought for our kids yet to come, who wouldn't have the Tyrant's bloody fist hanging over them! But _here?_"

I spat onto the ground, seething.

"I fight for another Tyrant! A Tyrant who calls himself the Emperor of Man! I should've known something was up with someone who'd call himself that. A man who sends kids to their death – for land! Hell, that isn't even just..."

"Might makes right, Lister," Sky said flatly. "Ya' just 'ave to accept it."

"By Jovi, that ain't true!" I exclaimed.

"Well, ya' just have to accept it," he repeated, shrugging. Then a devilish light flickered to life in his eyes. "Until _you're_ the one with the might. Then ya' kin force yer ideas down other people's throats."

"I suppose that's what the Emperor did," I admitted after a while. "With those wars on Terra."

"See? The galaxy ain't about what's everyone's right and wrong. It's about _your_ right'n'wrong," Sky said. "Ta' me, you know what the Emperor's like? Ah'll let ya' in on a secret. The very best gangers are just like the Emperor."

"What?" I didn't follow where Sky was going.

"The best gangers are businessmen. Ya' know that? All cheats and swindlers all, just like the Emperor. See, the reason why these bastards are so successful is cus' they're _respectable_. Or seem ta' be anyway. Look'it the Emperor. His business is the Imperium. What 'e sells is security. 'Ell, reminds me of a protection racket. Let's say planets are homes, savvy? Planets pay taxes fer protection. Planets tha' don't – like this one, they get burned down, then someone who will pay fer protection moves in. 'E's a smart man, this Emperor. The best followers are always fanatics. They come free, yeah? Most people ah' spoke ta' on the fleet ain't even paid. Can ya' believe tha'? They love mankind and his 'manifest destiny' or some other claptrap like tha'."

Slowly, I could see where Sky was going. My surroundings were almost forgotten.

"Problem with you is, yer talkin' bout goin' up against his business – his damn Imperium, which is already too big," he continued. "You ain't ever be able to break it –"

"No hang on, I just don't wanna be part of it! That's all!" I yelped. The thought of going up against something as vast of the Imperium was a terrifying concept.

"Well then, that's easy. We don't agree with everyone 'bout everythin', but while yer on the Emperor's yard, ya' play the Emperor's ball. Just cus' he's the biggest bastard there. Ya' see where ah'm drivin' at?"

Our eyes locked. "Escape," I answered.

"Now ya'git it. Ya' can't fight or change somethin' so big as the Imperium. So ya' do the next best thing. Ya' don't be a part of it," Sky said with a tight smile.

I nodded, feeling numb. Deep down, I knew it wasn't right to just stand back. Back on Sayre, if one town was attacked by pirates, all of them would band to together to bring the villains to justice. Simply because _they_ would be the next to be attacked if they didn't act upon the threat. I knew from experience that just running away was never the answer. But what was I to do? What was I – a boy in a man's clothing, supposed to do anything but run?

I was a boiling storm of confused emotion. I blamed the Imperium for sending us here. I blamed the sergeant for leading us. I blamed myself. There was _hate_, but I did not know what to hate. I was even more confused after my outburst. For the first time in my life, I was utterly unsure of myself.

But I did know _one_ thing.

I knew that if I did not run, I would end up like poor Argeh ahead; a bullet in the brain, stone cold dead.

…...

We fell into silence after that, and Skylan went back to his assigned position with nothing else to talk about. Both of us were sure we had to escape, just that neither of us knew _when_. There seemed to be a silent agreement between us that the time was obviously not now, since both the Targrenites and Imperials would murder us on sight if we did. There was also the problem of our packs, which were hidden many kilometres away and out of easy reach. Yet another problem to trouble my mind.

There was one small blessing, though. I now carried a Targrenite autogun to replace the bolter I had broken. The bolter had been a write-off, and even Jevarn had been unable to pull it out of the tank-tracks. This Targrenite weapon was a funny looking contraption. It looking nothing like the autoguns I had used on Sayre, with the magazine located behind the trigger and a vertical hand grip under the barrel. It also had a moulded scope – something which the bolter had lacked, as well as a knife slung under the barrel that Jevarn had called a 'bayonet'. I detached it as soon as I had picked it up. It wouldn't be smart to poke myself accidentally with its razor-sharp point.

I had given my bolter cartridges with Yumec, the only other guy in the squad armed with a bolter; and scrounged as many clips of ammunition from the bodies. I had thrown up when I saw up close what a bolter round could do. By Jovi, it tore apart flesh, liquefying it, and sometimes just blew limbs straight off. Wounds to the chest or stomach looked like something had erupted out of the body. The bolter was a butcher's weapon.

I tried not to dwell on those memories. It was hard, but I concentrated on learning the mechanisms of my new weapon. It was far lighter than the adamantium block that was my old bolter, and clips were correspondingly lighter as well. There were a few buttons and levers whose purpose was unknown to me, but Jevarn had promised some time for practice once we had reached our contact.

Ha! Sernax's objections still made me smile.

"That's techno-heresy, Sergeant!" he had exclaimed, when he saw me picking up spare cartridges. "That weapon hasn't been consecrated by the Adeptus Mechanicus – it has no Machine Spirit!"

Sergeant Jevarn had gruffly told him off, saying that, "For fifty years my armour served me well on Terra without me _ever_ needing to pray to it. Machines are machines, naught more and certainly don't think for themselves!"

From Sernax's reaction I could tell he wasn't too happy, but how could he contradict the sergeant? He spent too much time with the Mechanicus, that fellow, and it showed. I couldn't blame him in a sense, since his heavy weapons training usually was supervised by adepts of the Mechanicus.

As for me, I thought all that fuss about 'Machine Spirits' was utter rot. Sure, machines did need oiling and maintenance, but did you really have to pray while you were at it? And it wasn't anything to do with the 'Spirit' being pleased after that, it was just the machine working better. I never voiced my opinions to anyone. Jovi knows what might happen to me.

I jumped in my boots when I felt something buzzing in my ear. With a grimace, I calmed down, realising that I had stupidly put the vox ear-piece in my bad ear out of pure habit. I quickly switched ears, hoping Jevanr would be in a magnanimous mood.

"Bravo Two, say again, over!" I said. I squinted ahead, trying to pick out the rest of my squad hidden among the foliage. The sun was high in the sky, at its zenith of Targren's thirty-hour cycle.

There was no response, so I continued tramping forwards tiredly. How long had we been on Targren? By my reckoning, it had been just one full Targrenite day. I shook my head in disbelief. We had already fought twice, and my clothes were no longer a camouflage green, but smeared brown in blood, dirt and sweat. Thank Jovi I couldn't smell myself.

"Bravo One, advise the rear to halt at the fence, over." Even through the distortion I could hear my sergeant's impatience. Was there ever a day he wasn't a cranky old bum? I somehow doubted it.

"What fen –" I began, before cutting myself off. "Uh sorry, Bravo Two, roger, out."

I mentally cursed myself. In vox-language, only the one who had started the conversation was supposed to say 'out' and terminate the dialogue. Jevarn was probably busy having an aneurysm. I knew I would pay for it later.

The trees quickly thinned, revealing a broad swathe of pasture that ran from the bottom of the valley to the top. And by Jovi, what a piece of pasture it was! I gaped at the verdant green of the luscious grass, so far removed from the parched grazing areas of Sayre. The grox must be fat as kings here! My mouth started to water as soon as I thought of them.

The ground began to slope downwards quite sharply, and with a start, I realised we were going down a valley. I dug in my heels as I slid over ferns and pebbles, glad that I had removed the bayonet on my new autogun. Otherwise, it would most likely have gone somewhere it shouldn't have in my scrambling descent – namely me. The weapon itself also doubled as a walking staff, since it was a damn sight longer than my broken bolter. And the butt to the ground, thank you! I wasn't that stupid to clog the muzzle by shoving it in the dirt. I was smart enough to know that most of the weapons in the galaxy weren't like Imperial bolters. Damn, you could clog the things with mud and still fire them! Jevarn had shown that particular fact in a lesson a couple of months ago, and cleaning my bolter had never made sense to me after that.

Gee, was I in a self-congratulatory mood right then, even after that slaughter back at the road. My mood soured instantly.

"Bloody Imperium," I muttered to myself.

Still, the valley was a beautiful sight, the mountains around us shrouded in a light blue haze. It had gotten stronger in the air as we neared the mountain range, and seemed to cling to the trees. There was something mystical in that vast expanse of trees. I suddenly wished I had camera so I could show what I had seen to Jane and everyone else back home. Nobody on Sayre had ever seen a forest.

My foot went out under me, slipping over a smooth boulder that I hadn't noticed while I was busy gawking at the scenery.

"Ooof!" A pain of pain erupted in my backside, travelling up and rattling my teeth. I heard a laugh as Sky scrambled down the slope, nimble as a cat. His boots made muffled thumps as he raced down past me. At least, I thought with a smile, he wasn't as quiet as a cat.

"Learn ta' walk, Lister!" I heard him call over his shoulder.

I rolled my eyes, getting up. "Stop at the fence, the sergeant says!" I called to his back.

He stuck a cheeky middle finger over his shoulder at me in reply. Back on Sayre that had been a sign to ward off evil, but on Feckulia apparently it was a rude gesture.

Blast, I ought to pay more attention. That rock could have been an enemy mine. But it wasn't, and that was all that counted.

I chased after Sky, forgetting everything about war in the midst of that lush paradise. The sun shone brilliantly, lighting up the grass around me. For a moment, I wondered why anyone would fight when there was such beauty to behold.

In that instant, I was everything, and nothing. I could not recall my own name, and I knew nothing about myself. My past was irrelevant, my future formless. I was simply perched on the very knife-tip of tranquillity. Something warm seemed to envelop me, not happiness, nor grief. It was contentment.

I found myself sitting on the slope, with Helfort gesturing impatiently at me. Where was I? Who am I...?

Then reality came crashing down on me once more. I was on Targren IV, fighting for the Imperium as part of the 2nd Expeditionary Fleet. I was a servant of the Emperor of Man, here to bring this planet under the crushing heel of the Imperium. My name was Solas Listern, initiate, serial number 1007739, Luna Wolf.

_You really need a fix, Lister,_ I told myself. I felt as if I was going stark, raving mad!

I got up once more with a grunt, feeling a little woozy. I stumbled down the valley, crouching behind a bush near another initiate. It happened to be Yumec.

"What's going on?" I mumbled to the gangly feral worlder.

He regarded me with tired hazel eyes, with deep bags under them, as if he had not slept for a week. I noticed his hands wouldn't stop moving, with the fleshy hand drumming a tattoo on its mechanical counterpart. My eyes were drawn to that contraption. Little gears and cogs whirred and spun, and miniaturised pistons pumped and contracted as his hand spasmodically clenched around the bolter he was carrying. From the wrist up the rest of the prosthetic was hidden by the sleeve of his fatigues, but I could see the moulded steel spars that parodied the bones of a real arm. It was...foul. I suddenly noticed that Yumec had noticed where my gaze was.

"Is there something wrong?" he said, a little coolly. His eyes were locked on mine belligerently. He had probably seen the look of disgust cross my face. Jovi damn, that was tactless.

"Ain't nothing wrong," I agreed quickly.

"Good!" he curtly snapped. He turned away from me. I felt like a door had been slammed in my face. That cranky ass!

But the sight of his bulging ammo bags sent a vindictive thrill up my spine. I had been conservative with my bolter ammunition, since I tended to hit what I shot at. Yumec however, was a poorer shot, and tended to do what the sergeant called 'triangulating'. He would always fire two shots to test the wind or adjust his aim, or just to settle in. Then again, it was hit-and-miss whether he would hit the target on the firing range, and certainly the chance of doing so in a fight would be even smaller. It still rankled me to see Yumec with the scope, but I did understand that he did need it more than me. I remembered his ammo bags were half empty when I had handed my bolter ammunition to him. By the looks of things on his turned back, he had been forced to fill his bum-bag as well to hold the extra ammo. And by Jovi, was the stuff heavy!

Serves him right, the stupid git.

"Bit heavy there, _ape_?" I sneered without thinking, voice heavy with mockery.

I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth. It was an ugly thing to say, and uncalled for. 'Ape' was one of the worst insults you could say could say to a feral worlder. Hell, he would probably taken it with a laugh if we were somewhere else. But here, there could be a million reasons why he wasn't happy. Maybe he was feeling the strain of carrying so much ammo, or were his boots ill-fitting? I never knew.

He spun around, jaw clenching, face red. He pointed a mechanical finger at me, and with the grinding of gears formed a metal fist.

"Say that again, dog, and I'll smash face in with these hand!" he snarled, voice guttural with anger.

I froze, staring at the fist. The false knuckles were actually broad studs, and where the back of his hand once had been was a large plate, the front end wickedly flanged for punching. And I could tell both were made of adamantium; it was of a darker shade than the steel it was mounted on. Combined with Yumec's longer arms and better leverage, that thing was a vicious weapon.

I realised that I had just been sizing the fellow up. Well, if he hadn't been such a miserly bastard this never would have happened. It was his fault, and I was never one to back down from a fight. Once, I had thought that I could never control my mouth.

Wrong.

I simply could not bear being bested. I would not rest until I had the last word, or, if it came to that, the last blow.

"Well, I see you're _real_ proud of that arm, buddy. Need a replacement for that mouth next, I think. Too stupid to learn Gothic, so an ape like you needs a fake mouth!"

I spat the words out with a scornful laugh, willing all the malice I could into those few words. My hearts were hammering my ear, and I felt the giddy surge of adrenaline once more. But surely he wouldn't _dare_ fight me? Jevarn would have his head.

There is a moment before a fight that you never forget. It is the sort of silence that is unmistakeable, where your eyes are drawn to your opponents eyes, to see the pupils narrow in fury, to see something snap inside. There is a hush. The sun hides behind the cloud, the wind averts its gaze. The world freezes into brittle, cracked glass, and your enemy is all you see.

And like glass, it shatters.

I felt myself lifted up with a tremendous blow to the chin. I landed, utterly dazed. Yumec strode into view, face twisted and scowling.

Then I saw red.

I lunged at him, fists whirling. My weaker left drove straight jabs into his armour vest, winding him. My right seized his metal arm, holding it in a death grip. He gasped, staggering back. I felt myself grin savagely, savouring his pain.

He straightened up, knocking me back with a push. Up close, I realised how tall he was. His arm flashed out, carving four bloody lines down my cheek. I stumbled back ears ringing. Again!

I fell on my back, stunned.

Absurdly, I wondered where the others were, and why they hadn't noticed us. Then I wondered how much of a laughing stock we would be if the Targrenties saw us. Watch the damn _Imperiazis_ kill themselves! My head was spinning.

He started kicking me. That bastard! I writhed in agony, baring my teeth. But my anger burned hotter than any pain. Through slitted eyes, I noticed he had made a fundamental mistake.

In a fight, never, _never_ stand front on to your enemy!

I rolled over, pretending to convulse in agony. He bought it, the gullible idiot. Ha!

Then, without warning, I kicked him in the fork of his legs.

He went down like a dummy, crumpling in on himself. I heard a choked, gasping scream as he vomited on himself. I stood, while he knelt in agony.

"How tall are you now, you stupid scum?" I heard someone say.

After a moment, I realised it was me.

I wiped a hand across my face, feeling the swelling and torn flesh. For a second, I wondered if I should back down, and say this was all a misunderstanding. Then I saw that my gloves came away a lurid crimson, and slick with blood. My breath hitched, and something possessed me.

Before I was fire, uncontrollable and raging. Now I was ice, gripped by a cold fury that burned fiercer than any inferno. I looked at my blood soaked hand, and looked at the kneeling ape in front of me. I was bleeding.

So he would pay for that.

In blood.

With a sadistic twist and jerk, I pulled the moaning Yumec's head up. It lolled and bobbed uncontrollably. A kinder voice in me told me he was nearly unconscious from the pain, and that he had suffered enough, so shouldn't I stop?

_I'd have none of that!_

I stepped back a few paces, tensing.

The ape knelt there obediently, utterly at my mercy.

But my heart had no mercy for this fool.

With an explosive leap, I was in front of him. My right leg swung, propelled with the strength born of frustration and hatred. Steel boot cap met teeth with a sickening crack. I saw teeth, fragments of them, and an arc of thick blood as Yumec fell away from me.

I stood, victorious. Panting, my fingers itched to crush the life out of the senseless Yumec. The triumph made me giddy.

I had given him my best socker-ball kick, intended to send a ball flying half-way across the massive courtyard to my friends, back at the orphanage on Sayre...

I fell to the ground with a sob, realising what I had done.

_What am I turning into?_

I looked at my gene-bulked hands, at the bones that were now harder than steel.

_Was I even human?_

I shuddered, feeling sick. My fingers brushed against my belt, and it hit me.

_What would Jane say?_

I could imagine her standing in front of me, hands clasped over her mouth in horror. I would approach her, saying everything was alright, and those beautiful brown eyes would widen in terror. She would run, and I would grow furious. I would chase after. I would catch her, my gene-enhanced hearts and blood sending me hurtling after her. I would catch Jane. And in a fit of rage, I would beat her to a bloody pulp, and kill her.

I asked myself this: _Could I really return to Sayre after all this?_

I shook uncontrollably, hugging myself. Not for comfort, but to keep those hands of mine from killing.

"I am a monster. I am a monster. I am a monster," I said, again and again, through a film of tears, blood and spittle.

I heard a vengeful roar, but thought nothing of it. I did not react when a hand seized my collar, lifting my up. I ignored the steel fist that came crashing down on me, once, twice, thrice...

I felt a vice close around my neck, flesh and steel striving to wring the life out of me. I tried, oh I tried, to keep my arms firmly at my sides. I did not want to hurt anyone any more. Better that I die.

But try as I might, I could not control myself. I saw myself clawing at his arms, tearing gouges into his flesh with my nails. I found myself ripping at his sleeve, and with a snap the fabric broke. I tore into his mechanical arm, breaking and shattering the delicate cogs and gears. I heard rabid screaming. It was me.

He squeezed harder, lips peeled back in fury to reveal the wet ruin inside. I bucked, reaching deeper into that false arm. My hands found the metal bones and cables hidden inside. With all my might, I began to wrench it out of his living flesh.

Now he began to scream, and we screamed together, locked in a pointless conflict ignited by a few paltry words.

I began to see black spots. One cable gave, and another, black oil and blood splashing on my face. Yumec's grip slackened, and he began to pound my face, making good his promise.

For all the hurt, all I felt was shame at that moment.

I could not even control myself. I could not even go with dignity, and die peacefully.

By Jovi, I was the ape! I was the animal!

In my oxygen-deprived vision, I saw Sky lunge into view, smashing Yumec off me. His hair was redder than blood...

I saw Sernax next, shoving Skylan away. Sky rushed to me, yelling, then I saw Helfort restrain him as the Feckulian turned to Yumec for revenge. I tried telling him not to, but there was no breath in my body. I heard Helfort's concerned voice.

"What the frak is going on here?" Jevarn's voice cut through the clamour like a knife. I breathed a sigh of relief. Yes, he would punish us, but everything would be sane now.

He stepped over me, checking over Yumec's crumpled form. Already, my face was swelling, with that hot, uncomfortable warmth that was unmistakeable.

"Golden fields of Anatoly, what have you been doing here?" the sergeant snarled. "I asked you to assemble at the fence, not kill each other! Well? Explain yourselves!"

**I hope you guys found that suitably disturbing. Or enjoyable, depending on your tastes. I haven't been speaking English for the last month, so please tell me if I've made mistakes, and I'll fix it ASAP. Until next time!**


	27. Targren IV: Feuds

**Exterminatus1: Thanks for the review, I'll try do longer chapters. I hope this one's length is more to your liking.**

**Alien26: I'm not sure if Lister will ever find a solution. This is my first foray in drama and such, so please forgive me if this is inadequate. Again, thanks for commenting!**

**Sammy Holzbein: I'd reckon any group of people in a dangerous situation would be a hazard to each other. Also accounting for the cultural differences, since they're all from different planets, the squad's basically a melting pot. Thank you for reading mate.**

**Clickaholic Anonymous: Again, thank you so much for returning. For this chapter, don't hold back from mauling me as I'm not sure how to write in dramatic situations such as these. **

**O'Shovah: Welcome back! Commenting on the morality is the Great Crusade is a fun thing to do, since all the Black Library authors all have the same factory-processed line about it, as you said. In my defence, mental problems are often heralded by sudden mood swings. Lister wouldn't even know of these disorders, much less say 'I have PTSD, I need help.' Since this is first person, he is very blind to everything around, and even himself. I hope this proves a decent explanation.**

**Erolden, grizzlyBUR, Conu, AEthereal Devastation: Thank you for adding me. You are more than welcome to add your feedback and critiques if you want.**

**Author's note: I apologise to everyone reading this. Uni is pretty lame, too much work. I might as well go back to school. Weekly tests my ass. I would punch it, but I would break my hand.**

**On another note, I will try to get a chapter done every two weeks. I'm slowly getting used to uni. **

Sergeant Jevarn was beside himself. He was furious – no, apoplectic.

I found myself standing, quite alone, in the centre of my shocked squad. Their faces stared uncomprehendingly at me, pale smudges against the dark green of camouflage and dirt. The stream in front of us burbled and chattered away, almost deafening in the silence.

I didn't know what to say. It was as if I had gone profoundly mute, with my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. I looked around me hopelessly; Yumec was lying still on the ground, Sernax was busy tending to the prone feral worlder, Skylan wore a dark scowl at the two, ever my friend – thank Jovi for him, while Helfort looked on with a worried expression on his face. The other two, Mogas and Harog - I think they had arrived at the scene too late to have much of a clue of what was going on – they simply looked confused.

"_Well?_" came the sergeant's grating snarl.

Our eyes met. I noticed with a shock that they were utterly bloodshot, as if the space marine hadn't slept in a month, but his pupils were the most vivid of greens.

He hadn't...been losing sleep over poor dead Argeh, would he? Or was he drinking?

_No,_ I figured to myself – it was probably the smoke from explosions and such. The sergeant was a full space marine, after all. He was above those sort of concerns.

With great difficulty, I forced myself to speak.

"...sir, I – I..." I stammered, throat stripped raw from yelling. My voice failed me.

A mountainous wave of guilt crashed over me. Yet there was anger also – anger at my stupidity, and also of Yumec's, and also at the Imperium's entirely moronic idea of sending all of us here in the first place. I wanted to do nothing more than sit down and cry.

Sky stepped forward, placing himself between the sergeant and I. He stood feet apart, his shotgun not quite pointed at Jevarn, but held in readiness for anything. I saw the rest of the squad immediately tense, but Skylan broke the silence.

"Sarge, weren't Lister's fault. Tha' bastard of a feral worlder clocked 'im first. Ah' saw it all – yes sir, with me own eyes," the Feckulian reported. "T'aint no fault o' Lister's – tha' whoreson Yumec started the 'ole thing."

Jevarn's green eyes narrowly dangerously. "I didn't ask _you_, Initiate Skylan. Now get out of my way before I _remove_ you myself."

Sky didn't miss a beat. "N –"

Regaining my wits, I hurriedly clamped a hand on Sky's battered spaulders. I hissed into his ear, "Don't rile him, Sky – let me handle this!"

Turning to the sergeant, I quickly added, "Initiate Skylan didn't mean nothing – he begs to be excused."

Jevarn nodded once, curtly. The redhead gave me a tense look as he backed away, but he still kept his hands on his shotgun. The squad relaxed visibly, but the sergeant's eyes kept their lethal gleam.

"Report, Initiate Lister," the marine grated.

"Yumec and I traded insults, and we came to blows over it. I can't tell you who threw the first punch, because I can't remember," I said tonelessly.

"Was the bloody ape!" Skylan exploded.

"Be silent!" Sergeant Jevarn snarled. "I know you two are as thick as thieves – I wouldn't trust _your_ word in this matter as far as I can spit. Initiate Yumec, your report!"

Yumec didn't answer. Sernax looked up, and said worriedly, "Sir, you should look at this."

All eyes fell on the feral worlder. Jevarn strode up to the prone Yumec, kneeling beside him. The squad crowded around the sergeant, giving me a wide berth as they did. I felt miserable, but I didn't blame them. Jevarn tended to dole out punishments in wide swathes – invariably it led to the innocent squad members also punishing the offender. My Feckulian friend leaned in close, unnoticed in the rush.

"We could shoot 'em all," he muttered almost inaudibly. "They're all in a cluster, ser if yer new gun can go full-auto, we're set."

I stared at him, shocked. How could he even comprehend such a thing? Sure, Yumec was a bastard, Jevarn was a slave master – but that was his job; but I almost liked the rest of the squad. I had to keep reminding myself to stay distant from them, I had to run – but it tore me up each time I saw Helfort's disappointed face every time I gently rebuffed his friendly advances.

"Yeah! Toss in a grenade, and they'll all be dead!" Sky continued enthusiastically. "Lister –"

I grabbed him by the shoulder. "You'll do no such thing!" I snapped.

Skylan shrugged. "Hey, jus' throwin' some ideas out there. Up ta' you if ya wanna start throwin' bombs instead."

I rolled my eyes, despite my predicament. We watched as the squad was herded back by Jevarn, and the sergeant lifted Yumec's limp body up. The man's face was locked in a furious snarl. The squad shot accusing glares at us. Helfort refused to look me in the eye.

"What's this? The faggot gits to be carried after doin' tha' to Lister?" Skylan growled under his breath. "Fuckin' baby."

I tried to catch a closer look at Yumec. He was a mess of drying blood – especially around his head and prosthetic arm. I knew I was responsible for his arm, but surely I didn't do that to his head...

"In consideration to Initiate Yumec's invalid condition, we will pursue this matter after we are secure at our contact's home," Jevarn spat, barely-controlled anger in his voice. He shot Skylan and I a cold glance. "Consider yourselves under open arrest. Initiates Mogas and Sernax, keep an eye on these two – justice will be served. Now move out!"

Bloody hell – open arrest! That meant we would be court-martialled when we got back to the fleet; even more reason to escape.

The squad quietly dispersed, but Sernax and Mogas kept behind us.

"What the hell 'appened to the arse? Can't take a few blows?" Sky fumed.

"His head met a rock," Sernax said shortly, behind me. The squad started to advance again, approaching the stream. I looked back at the tech-worlder. He face was drawn in a disapproving scowl, but he fell silent as he met my eyes.

But I too was struck mute by the news. The feral worlder had taken off his helmet before the fight, and the only place that could bleed that much on the head was the temple. By Jovi, if Yumec ever recovered, there was every chance he would wake up an insensible, drooling idiot. I had seen it happen on Sayre when a man had fallen off a moving truck, splitting his head wide open. If it were possible, I felt even guiltier about myself.

"Good on you, Skylan and Lister!" Mogas cut in, sneering. "Those Targrenites managed to kill Argeh – now you idiots manage to nearly kill Yumec! I knew you two were trouble as soon as I set my eyes on you – you've got it written all over your faces."

I took the insults without complaint. I knew I certainly deserved it, but Skylan was never one to take those sort of words from anyone.

One moment he was next to me, the next there was a blur of violent struggling as he grappled with a surprised Mogas. In just a few seconds Mogas' shotgun was flung ten metres away, and the redhead had Mogas in a painful headlock. Sernax started forwards, but in one swift motion I kicked away his heavy bolter as it was being raised, and the Targrenite autogun was pointed at the hapless tech-worlder's face.

"Have you gone mad?" Sernax hissed, scandalised.

"Not mad. Just stay out of this," I snapped, ignoring the pain in my foot. By Jovi, that heavy bolter a pile of dense grox turds!

He nodded slowly, and I lowered the gun. Sernax made no move for his heavy bolter, however. It would lie in the undergrowth until Sky had finished with Mogas. We stood together uncomfortably, watching the Feckulian and the struggling feral worlder.

"You talk to much, ya' know tha'?" Skylan gasped, taxed from holding Mogas still. His burly arms tightened, muscles bulging. The feral worlder gave a pained yelp, and stopped resisting. "Ya wanna talk to me fist?"

"Sergeant Jevarn will have your head!" Mogas retorted weakly. "You won't get away with this."

Sky suddenly let go, taking a step forwards. I thought it was over, but he suddenly donkey-kicked a stunned Mogas right in the chest plate, sending him flying into the dirt. I heard Sernax wince, and he started forwards. I tapped him on the shoulder, and after a pleading look at me, he despairingly stayed put.

"Fight me, you piss-head!" the Feckulian spat venomously, spreading his arms like a champion prize-fighter. "Stop running ta' lil' old daddy fer comfort! Git up and fight! If ya' a man, tha' is!"

Mogas got to his feet, looking outraged.

"Comon! Run outta words?" Skylan snarled contemptuously. "Fight me! Fist to fist!"

Mogas hesitated, looking at the Feckulian's fists. Skylan had beaten everyone at unarmed combat, back on the _Armageddon Knight_, every single time. It wasn't that he fought particularly gracefully, just that he naturally knew where to put his arms and legs in a fight, something that most people never truly mastered. In one of his better moods, Jevarn had joked that if Skylan ever got his hands on a pair of power fists, the Ork race would go extinct.

Mogas shook his head, turning away from the redhead. He was beaten, he knew it, and the slump of his shoulders told the world so.

"Pisspot! Scared? Comon, ya big lump, fight me! Fight me!" Sky yelled at Mogas' retreating back. "Fight me damn you! Torrett curse you!"

The radio – I mean the vox-piece buzzed near the collar of my shirt. With a start, I realised I had been wearing the vox-caster the entire time, including the fight. No wonder Yumec hadn't tried to grapple me – with the damn thing on I had least twenty kilograms on him. I felt a small glow of pleasure that I had become accustomed to carrying the wretched contraption. It didn't seem half as heavy now.

"Bravo Two, even though you are under arrest, that does not put you at liberty to run amok even more. You will instruct the initiates in your area to be silent. Out," Jevarn's disembodied voice growled.

"Bravo Two acknowledges, over," I quickly said, hoping not to anger him any further.

"Bravo One, out."

Thankfully, Skylan had finished cursing the air blue, flipping one last middle finger at Mogas ahead. He turned back to us, face flushed in triumph. I couldn't help but smile.

Sernax shook his head wearily, saying softly to me, "Nothing good is going to come out of this."

I stared at him. "Damn right. But what else are we supposed to do?" I replied grimly.

"Look...I can't say this about Skylan, but you seem to be a good guy. Just try to stay out of trouble, OK?" the tech-worlder warned me. "Skylan's on the express lane to an execution. If I were you, I'd stay away from him. They aren't going to give him much of a trial when they find out all that he's done. He's a villain, Solas, and you know that."

With that, he walked away, gathering up his heavy bolter and Mogas' shotgun as he went. It was my turn to shout this time.

"You're wrong!" I cried at Sernax. "He's the best friend I've ever met!"

Sernax didn't reply as he walked away. Skylan approached me, grinning.

"Course ah'm the best! It's me!" he said proudly. "Weak as piss, tha' Mogas. Did ya' see him run? Didn'a even much as cuss at me."

He spat derisively on the ground, shouldering his shotgun once more. His normally pale features were flushed with excitement. My brow creased with worry. Sernax was partly right about Skylan, I shamefully admitted to myself. His antics would get him in some serious trouble one day.

Even more reason to run, I suppose.

We reached the boundary fence without further incidents. To anyone else watching, it would have seemed like _we_ were guarding Mogas and Sernax. The fact wasn't lost on Sky, who periodically jeered insults at the two up ahead. They didn't reply, but I could see Mogas' fist clenching furiously. It was a good thing Sernax still had Mogas' shotgun – from the looks of things Mogas couldn't take much goading before he started seeing red.

Skylan and I stood and watched as the two clambered over the wire fence that marked the farm. I snorted as Sernax made a mess of the crossing, his heavy bolter's ammunition feed getting tangled around the wires. Mogas turned back, exasperated, and began pulling at the hapless Sernax. He didn't budge. When the shotgun got mixed up as well, I couldn't take it any more.

"For Jovi's sake, unclip the damn ammo line!" I exclaimed, reaching for the ammo feed.

It gave way with a small click. Sernax abruptly slipped, landing in an inglorious heap on the mud near the –

By Jovi, _what the hell was that?_

My eyes widened as I suddenly noticed what I was looking at. It was...water! Water that flowed and chattered in a deep chasm cut into the ground. Green plants flourished around the sides of the water trench – what did the legends call them again?

I racked my brains for the forgotten word as Sernax shakily got to his feet, muttering a churlish, "Thanks," my way.

Ah – I remember! I turned to Sky excitedly.

"Sky – Sky – is that...a _river_?" I babbled, tugging his sleeve.

He looked at me cynically. "That's a bloody trickle, bra. Back et' Moonshine City there was a mile-wide canal runnin' through the place. Now _that's_ a river," he said, then muttered quietly to himself, "But it weren't water that flowed in there, jus' shit and trash."

"Man, that's brilliant!" I laughed, feeling a little better. "I've never seen a river before!"

Rivers were a mythical fantasy on Sayre. No water flowed above the ground; there simply wasn't enough rain for that. There was the Great Subterranean Water Belt, but that ran underground and was probably an Ancient construct, from what I heard. But there were rumours of vast pools of water hidden deep underground which no human could drink from. Dead Water, these mysterious lakes were called; sealed deep underground for all eternity in vast containers by the deranged Ancients. Inside was water ruined by the Quakefire, or poisoned by the mad industries of the Dark Age of Technology.

"You never seen a river before?" Mogas asked derisively. "Have you been living under a ro –"

He instantly flinched as Sky speared him with his ice-blue glare. Inwardly, I grinned. Skylan could be a terrific bully, a thug even, but he only did it when he needed to act so. He had his head in the right place, he did, unlike the petty bullies back at the orphanage.

Mogas shut up after that. The feral worlder had his shotgun back, but with Sky basically pointing his gun at him Mogas wisely kept his arms slack. He still angry at us – that was obvious; I was fairly sure he was hoping that we'd make fools of ourselves climbing over the fence.

He could also keep dreaming.

I smoothly vaulted over the wire fence, gripping a wooden post one-handed like I did so many times patrolling the fields in the SFL. I instinctively looked back, smiling at Jane's phantom as I imagined her leaping gracefully over the fence after me. Jovi damn, I missed her. She would know what to do in all this madness.

Meanwhile, my Feckulian friend opted to do a running jump, landing heavily near Sernax and Mogas, spattering the unfortunate couple with black mud. It was insultingly deliberate. Skylan whistled jauntily as he sauntered by the two. I found their shocked faces hilarious, and fought to keep myself from smiling.

Jevarn's voice blared into my vox-piece once more. "Bravo Two, prepare to cross the stream, over."

For a moment, I froze in terror. _Cross the stream?_ How the in the seven hells was I supposed to _cross the stream?_

I stole a glance at the murky depths that flowed in front of me. Suddenly the chatter of the river was no longer cheerful, now more akin to some evil water spirit laughing at my plight. How would Jovi find my body when it was washed away from that torrent of watery death? Surely there must be some other way?

"S-s-sarge wants us to c-cross the w-w-water," I stuttered, eyes fixed on the river before me.

I heard once that there was such a thing called 'drowning'. In my little boy's humour I found it amusing that someone could fill their lungs with water, let alone find enough to manage the feat. No now, though. That thought of it was bloody terrifying!

"Um, Lister?" Sernax began tentatively. He pointed to our right. "There's a path and bridge over there."

He was indeed right. A small dirt path meandered through the trees down the valley, heavily etched with wheel marks. It led to a sturdy wooden bridge, the thick supports sunk deep into the water. The dark wood looked comfortably solid.

"Thank you," I said quietly to Sernax, relieved.

I switched on the vox. "Bravo One, there is a bridge to our right, requesting permission to cross, over."

The sergeant's reply was as curt as it was choleric. "Bravo Two, forget not your training. We _never_ use paths built by the enemy. Out."

So our contact was also our _enemy_? Where was trust in this galaxy?

I gulped. So into the water then, Jovi preserve me. I licked my lips, then gave the bad news to everyone.

"Jevarn wants us to...go through the water."

To my surprise, Mogas shrugged, Sernax merely looked dismayed, and Skylan just snorted.

"Do we 'ave to get wet?" he groaned irritably.

"Getting wet's the least of my worries," I moaned to the redhead. I shot a suspicious look at the other, and continued quietly; lest I looked weak to them, "How the hell do you...go through water?"

"Ya' don't know 'ow ta' swim?" he murmured incredulously. His eyebrows shot up.

I felt my face flush. "Wasn't exactly enough water on Sayre for that," I muttered defensively.

He grunted. Mogas and Sernax were stripping off their webbing, balling up their equipment and securing any loose belongings.

"Well ya' do what they're doin'," he said after a pause. "Take off yer' shirt and boots – might as well take off yer socks while yer at it too."

I did as he told me, shivering in the suddenly cool Targrenite afternoon. The weather didn't seem half as balmy when I was half naked. I stuffed my woolly socks into my boots. They smelt like something terrible, but that was expected.

"What now?" I asked, teeth chattering. I dipped a nervous foot into the running water, quickly pulling it back onto firm ground. I couldn't feel the bottom.

"'Ang on," Sky said, taking off his own things. After a moment he started shivering too. "Well, then I guess ya' bung yer gear over to the over side, then git in. Oh yeah – let's try git on the bank first, so those bloody gits don't shoot us in the water."

I nodded. My hearts were pounding, my mouth was dry. I looked down into the water. My toes dug furrows in the mud.

Sky grunted softly as he flung his belongings over to the other side – no what did he call it? The bank, that was it. We followed suit, our things mostly crashing into the ferns and mud on the opposite bank. I heard Sernax curse as something bright fell out of his webbing as it landed, rolling into the hungry water and promptly swept away.

Bloody hell, with the radio this heavy it'd just sink! I took a deep breath before heaving the contraption with all my might. To my immense relief, it landed with a thump on a fern, crushing it. Now for me to get across...

It was damn absurd that something we Sayreans thought as salvation could be so frightening right now. This stream could supply the entire city of Ginas, yet here I was, trembling at the sight of it!

_What would Jane say?_ I taunted myself. _Come on, you big coward!_

I steeled myself. I'd not be a coward, no I wouldn't!

I've run through gunfire, I've run at tanks with just a bomb in hand – Jovi damn, how come I couldn't summon up the courage to cross the stream?

I heard a loud crack of splintering wood beside me. Sky hefted a long branch in one hand; taller than he was. He planted it firmly into the ground, placing his hand at head height. I watched quizzically as he then plunged it into the water, and to my horror, the water came up over his hand.

He gave a nonchalant shrug as he pulled the branch out of the water, walking back to throw in the foliage.

"Remember, its easier to float than sink," Sky said into my ear, behind me. "Now in ya' get!"

One moment I was standing on the bank, dithering; then I flung violently over the water. I opened my mouth to scream, but my face smacked into the water! The world turned green. I heard a muffled screaming, bubbles were everywhere – wait – that was my air!

Panicking, I struggled towards the light above. Just as my lungs were fit to burst my head broke the surface. I took in air with deep, ragged gasps. _Jovi damn, Jovi damn!_

I blinked water out of my eyes as I jerkily paddled to stay afloat. I kept slipping under, but with a frantic effort clawed my way back up each time. My strength was flagging as I turned towards to the bright green of the pasture.

My body was numb with cold – my waterlogged pants felt like lead weights. My muscles burned with the violent exertion. Every breath was a mortal struggle.

In despair, I started my death-prayer to Jovi – but then my feet touched mud!

My hearts leapt as I dragged myself out of the stream. By Jovi, I never want to swim again!

I collapsed on the bank, retching up water. It tasted earthy, but clean. My head spun as I woozily got to my feet.

"You...bastard...Sky..." I rasped at the grinning Feckulian.

"'Ey, was fun, right?" he retorted cheekily. "Ah' knew you'd make it, so what's the fuss?"

I flipped the middle finger at him. I think that was an insult for Feckulians, instead of a sign to ward off evil on Sayre.

"Oh, idiot brigade's comin' out now," he commented, ignoring me.

Sernax and Mogas splashed out of the water, looking very annoyed at Skylan, who was pointing his shotgun at them.

"We're supposed to be guarding you," Sernax complained. "Couldn't you just play along?"

"Can't even guard yerselves," Sky shot back. "Ain't givin' me parole ta' the likes of ya'!"

The tech-worlder rolled his eyes, while Mogas muttered vague insults under his breath. The vox came to life, and I hurriedly plugged the buzzing earpiece in.

"...Two, confirm crossing. Over."

"Bravo Two confirms crossing. Er...awaiting instructions. Over."

"Bravo One, instruct initiates to assume full battle order and take cover, then proceed to my position. Out."

I turned to the others. "Sarge wants us to take get dressed and take cover," I said. "I gotta go speak to him, he says too."

"Get dressed?" Mogas snorted derisively. "You mind putting that in better terms?"

"You mind shutting your mouth before I start _putting_ my fist down your throat?" I snarled viciously.

I was sick of this guy. What had I ever done to to him? He'd turned from some feral worlder I barely knew to this...this annoying prick! It wasn't even personal, for Jovi's sake!

He looked ready to object, but I suddenly stamped on the ground. He flinched instinctively. Ha – beaten! Mogas kept quiet after that.

We then had the unpleasant task of dressing while still wet. My fatigues stuck to my wet skin, and my pants were still dripping. With a grimace of distaste I forced my mud covered feet into my socks, ignoring the stream. I never wanted to go in water again. Bloody hell, my clothes were soaked – I should have just gotten them wet in the water!

Oh wait – I would have gone under, considering how heavy my pants gotten.

I quickly checked that my belongings were secure: Jane's letter, her pistol, the medallion – all good.

Gathering my things, I muttered almost inaudibly to Sky, "You'll be alright with them, yeah?"

He sneered at the two. "Giant flaming cowards, they are," he announced loudly. "I could take ten o' 'em, en' more."

I nodded as I strapped on the radio. "Take care," I said, slinking into the bushes towards the sergeant.

It was a relief to get away from the oppressive resentment of those two. I knew Sernax didn't like Skylan, and Mogas was close friends with the unconscious Yumec; but they were beginning to get irritating.

"Greetings," said a voice to my left. I turned around.

"How's it going, Jyon?" I asked.

There was naught a trace of animosity on his face – just worry.

"I am well. Nay, I will not ask thou how thou fares," he said. "To where dost thou go?"

"Sarge wants to speak to me. Ain't sure about why," I replied.

"Well, we shall commune at a better time, then. Thou oweth an explanation." He rubbed his chainsword fitfully.

"I'll remember that, buddy," I said. "Till then, eh?"

"Take care of thyself," he called as I walked off.

My spirits lifted at that. At least one person hadn't gone mad in this squad.

…...

"Initiate Lister," a very angry Jevarn snapped. "Good, you brought the vox. At least stupidity is not one of your crimes."

"Sarge," I said, not trusting my mouth to anything more.

"First of all, I will reserve judgement until Initiate Yumec gives his testimony," he continued. "It is foolish to act prematurely – I will not be guilty of this. When we return to the fleet, you, Initiates Yumec and Skylan will all be charged with unlawful assault at separate court-martials. Do you understand?"

I nodded grimly. _I won't be returning..._ I said to myself silently.

"Secondly, this operation will continue according to plan. If, and only _if_, you act in an exemplary manner befitting an initiate of the 16th Legion, I may consider altering your charges. I will do nothing regarding the ire of your comrades; it is well deserved – and you evidently have your own supporters. As long as it does not come to extreme violence I will not intervene. You lot are fast becoming men, and an argument between men must be solved amongst themselves. Do you concur?"

"Sarge," I repeated grimly. My mouth twitched as I remembered Skylan booting Mogas around. That problem was easily solved...

"Very well, we will put this miserable business behind us for now. Back in my day..." he groused, calming down. "Back to our operation. This is the Targrenites' vox machine I acquired back at the road."

He handed me a battered radio set, trailing wires and obviously taken from one of the tanks. I turned it over in my hands curiously, noting the Russtek glyphs on the sides.

"I can't read these," I said. "Sarge."

"Evidently. No, what I need is for you to communicate to our contact that he needs to decrypt the codes on this machine. Imperial Intelligence reports that this planet does not make use of Abominable Intelligence, thus such codes can be deciphered by human intellect alone."

"Sir," I asked. "How's this contact of ours gonna decrypt the codes from the radi – vox?"

"He boasts that he has a machine that is capable of doing so," Jevarn said grimly. "And when I say _boast_, I mean I have doubts about this man."

"Right you are, sergeant," I replied. "What now?"

The marine pointed up the hill. "Our contact resides in that...shack, up yonder."

I squinted up the green slope. It wasn't a shack – it was a big wooden house with a smoking chimney! It had a straw roof, and the window frames were painted white, contrasting brilliantly with the near-black wood. Just looking at it made me feel cosy. There was also a small barn to the side, and a little out-house further away. Damn, it was the sort of place I wanted to build with Jane back on Sayre.

"We just walk up to it, right sarge?" I asked.

"No," the sergeant growled. "The rest of the squad will take a positions of strength around copse there."

He pointed at a small clump of trees thirty metres away. The twisted roots formed something close to a pillbox. I could easily imagine the squad defending from that. Jevarn pointed further down the slope.

"I have also ordered a rope to be strung across the stream at that location. In the event of treachery, the squad will retreat to there if the day cannot be won here."

I nodded in agreement. Pulling yourself hand-over-hand by rope was a much faster way of crossing water than a dunking.

"Yessir. Anything else?" I asked.

"Initiate Sernax will man that position there with his heavy weapon – the rest of the squad will spread out around him. Initiate Yumec and the body of Initiate Argeh will also be placed there," Jevarn instructed. "Initiate Harog will take Initiate Yumec's bolter. His shotgun will go to Initiate Helfort, who will be paired with your friend Skylan."

"Er...sounds good." Their bickering was at least better than Sky strangling whoever was guarding him.

"You two seem very close..." Jevarn mused. "I must give you a lesson in life. In one's tender years, one will eventually feel the urge to..._pursue_...others. Understood?"

"Right," I said, completely nonplussed. "Sarge."

"Thus, one must take care not to become a nancy boy."

Oh by Jovi, he thought – he thought... _Gah!_

"If one has these urges, he would best profit from the company of a female of equivalent age. Do you understand?"

"I assure you...Sarge...that Initiate Skylan and I are _thoroughly_ interested in _females_..." I grated out slowly. "Anything..._else..._would be the stuff of nightmares."

I stuck to the Terran habit of using overly long words, since it gave me time to think, and also gave me time to stop myself from screaming at Jevarn, _'I like _girls _you psychotic idiot!'_

"Good," my bored sergeant concluded, glancing up at the house. "That is life, that is proper. We shall cease speaking of such petty matters."

"Thanks," I muttered sarcastically. "Sarge."

Businesslike as ever, Jevarn finished his instructions. "Mogas will go there."

He indicated to the right of the copse, which was as far away from Helfort and Sky's position as possible.

"Ah, your vox will go with Sernax in the case of an emergency. I do hope that your Russtek is up to scratch."

I cursed inwardly. It made sense though. If I brought my vox up there and our contact turned to treachery, the rest of the squad would have no warning whatsoever.

"I heard it all, Initiate Lister," Jevarn growled abruptly.

"Sir." I didn't know what to say.

Suddenly, it dawned on me. _Surely he couldn't know of our plan..._

"Do you know why I did not intervene?" the sergeant asked rhetorically.

I kept silent, praying.

"A space marine must be able to handle his own battles. If he proves insufficient, how can his commanders trust him to fight _their_ battles? Initiate Sernax was right about your red-headed friend, he is a criminal, yet we are soldiers – there are things we are all not proud of."

I felt a great weight slip off my shoulders as Jevarn spoke. _He didn't know, thank Jovi._

"I feel there are several honour duels to be fought once we return to the fleet. Certain...differences that need to be solved between several members of this squad. But not now. You will return to your comrades and inform them of my orders. We will then proceed up towards the house, _separately_."

With that, the marine slid away, disappearing into the undergrowth. I shook my head. That man was crazy. The galaxy didn't work his way, with his polite Terran honour duels, court martials and manly conduct. Still, it was a mercy. He could have easily beaten me up.

Still marvelling at the insanity of this day, I headed back to my friend and two 'guards'. When I got back, I was relieved that Sernax and Mogas weren't corpses. Skylan had obviously seen fit to relieve them of their weapons once again, all the way down to their sidearms. He looked absolutely piratical with the four bolt-pistols stuck into his belt.

Strangely, he reminded me of Sammo with those pistols tucked away like that. The two would have been great friends if they ever met.

"Alright, listen up. Sarge says this," I said. Their heads snapped up in attention. "Sernax, you're to man your bolter at that clump of trees over there. Mogas, you're on that side, about twenty metres from Sernax. Sky – you're to pair up with Helfort, to the opposite side."

To my relief, they all nodded. Sky piped up, "Hey, Helfort's a pompous bum, but at least 'e ain't a mangy git like these two, eh bra?"

The two 'mangy gits' stared daggers at the Feckulian. I allowed myself a grim smile.

"What are _you_ doing?" Mogas accused, rounding on me.

"Walking up to that house up the hill," I snapped back. I was still stung by his manner. "Someone's got to do something useful."

The feral worlder spat, and turned to leave. Sky kicked the stolen guns to the pair, but he kept the bolt pistols.

"Good riddance, isn't tha' what ya' like ta' say?" Skylan remarked as they left.

"Damn straight," I snarled.

Without another word, I turned to march up the slope. My expression was probably thunderous, I was hating the entire galaxy at that point; and by Jovi – if that contact of ours pissed me off any further...

I was pretty sure I'd just shoot him dead.

**OK, I'm not sure whether you'll like this, but I'll never make anything without making mistakes lol. As usual, please inform me of spelling mistakes and such, I'll fix them promptly. **

**Btw, I've started rewriting the beginning chapters, since they're woefully short. If you have time, check out the first chapter, which has already been altered. Please tell me what you think of it.**


	28. Targren IV: Hall of the Mountain King

**B-Unit: Thanks man, I appreciate the add.**

**Sammy Holzbein: I always thought of Jevarn of less a professional supersoldier and more of a barbarian warrior, so I thought he might know a bit more of life in general. Though not express it very well. Thanks for reviewing.**

**Clickaholic Anonymous: Yes, Lister is still about 15, verging on 16. The dialogue is idiosyncratic, I think. I purposely insert double negatives and the like into the characters' speech. Is this what you're referring to, or are they grammatical errors? Thanks for commenting!**

**ZA: You made me grin there, thanks mate. I'm glad you're rooting for Lister!**

**O'Shovah: Possibly a trap... Not sure myself, to be honest. Yes, the idea of the Talk seemed funny to me as well lol.**

**ImperialFisted: Thanks for the adds. I admit it was quite shocking seeing 5 new emails in my inbox, but the experience was quite gratifying.**

**Talons of corax: Thanks for the review mate! And yes, I've read God of Death, or part of it at least. I didn't know what was happening with the Warcraft bit because I don't anything about Warcraft lol.**

**Author's Note: I has uni exams, so please don't crucify me for this late update. **

I was part-way up the hill when I realised I was still carrying the radio. Briefly, I considered just taking it up there to spite Sernax and Mogas, the Jovi-damned twits. But then Skylan, Helfort and the other guy – Harog – they didn't deserve to be hurt if something did go awry.

With that in mind, I ran back down the slope, feet slipping in my socks. I briefly regretted not cleaning my muddy feet, but the thought of another dip was too much for me. I jumped into the little thicket, taking off the vox caster.

"For you," I said curtly. "Sarge will call if something's amiss."

Sernax nodded, staying silent. I guess he didn't feel as tough without Mogas nearby. I looked around. Jyon and Harog had produced folding shovels, and were digging foxholes and grenade-sumps around their positions. Skylan was lounging around drinking his beers – as usual, while Mogas helped Harog with his bare hands. The copse we were in had been fortified in both directions. It was already a natural depression, which had been deepened further by shovel work and lined with thick branches. Someone had managed to drag a dead tree into place on the stream-ward side. Crazy bastard, whoever that was.

A metallic clank sounded beside me, as Sernax deftly unscrewed his weapon's pole-grip at the top. On went the tripod underneath, and the legs were seated firmly in place. I frowned in surprise as Sernax pulled a folding plate from the back of his webbing, snapping it out briskly. This was new. It slotted over the top of the bolter like a miniature shield. I suppose it made it harder for enemy snipers to get a shot at his head.

I left the squad as Sernax was gauging different positions for his bolter, catching a glimpse of the two bodies tucked away to the side of the entrenchment; one dead, the other not quite so. Argeh's face was shrouded, thankfully, but Yumec's head was caked in dried blood. I turned away, unsure whether to feel angry or guilty about the feral worlder.

So I hurried up the hill, loading a clip into my captured rifle as I went. I just hoped it fired when I needed it to, because I wasn't too sure what some of the knobs on it did. Even if it did fire, I knew the rifle wasn't yet sighted for me; so, like most things in my life, it was up to Lady Luck. So far, I groused sullenly, she hadn't been exactly kind to me. I tugged at my Imperial fatigue pants, only for them to stick once again on my damp skin.

The sun was finally setting, I realised. And about time, damn it! How did the Targrenites live with such a long day? Hadn't their Ancients known anything? The ones on Sayre – insane as they were, had used some orbital STC machine called an planetary rotational modifier to change the length of the days to proper human standards. But then, true to form, they had used the thing to sling Quakefire at each other. The Ancients were geniuses, yes – but they were absolute idiots too. The galaxy was well rid of them.

But thirty hours was still an awfully long time, unless you spent most of it sleeping.

But no! Oh no! His Imperial Majesty wanted us to invade some random, miserable, stinking planet instead!

My stomach rumbled in disapproval as I trudged across the green grass. I hadn't eaten since our deployment. I looked up the hill. There was the house, warm and inviting, and beyond it was a looming mountain with its snow-topped peak. Even in the failing light I noticed a small encampment halfway up, built around a cave. There was a cooking fire going up there. I could tell by the small plume of smoke.

I tensed.

Was this treachery? The place looked a few kilometres distant, but a good sniper could reach any of us here. I glanced back down the slope, then at Sergeant Jevarn. He didn't seem too worried. I would have reckoned he hadn't seen the cave, if not for the fact that he was a space marine.

I still kept my eyes on the little camp, and slowly I realised why the sergeant wasn't fussed. There was a small horde of tumbling shapes around the cave mouth – children, they were. I spied a few taller forms that were unmistakeably female. The kids' mothers, then? I supposed they were refugees fleeing the coming war.

I reached the top of the hill, stopping at the front door next to Jevarn. He gave me a piercing look, and jerked his head towards the mountain, as if to ask, _Did you see that?_

Wordlessly, I nodded in reply. For all we knew, our contact could be listening at the door, reporting our every move to the enemy! I prayed to Jovi that wouldn't happen. I wanted somewhere comfortable to sleep for the night.

"Ready?" Jevarn said, this time with his mouth.

"Yes, sergeant," I answered. I levelled the gun at the door, finger at the trigger.

"Is this how the natives of your planet greet your hosts?" the sergeant asked dryly. "Charming."

Abashed, I lowered the weapon. I was being too paranoid, by far. This place was getting on my nerves. Jevarn knocked on the door.

_Rap rap rap_.

Immediately, the door flew open. A short, rotund man stood in the doorway, grinning broadly from ear to ear. He was going bald at the top of his head, and his beard was whiskery. For some reason, his shirt was tucked in formally, making his bulging belly even more prominent. The fellow couldn't have been older than forty.

"Ding ding ding ah dong dong!" he smiled ecstatically, as if we were long lost friends.

I didn't have to translate the big hug I got. I was fairly sure it meant 'hello and welcome'. Completely stumped, I slapped the guy on the back, unsure of what to do. Our contact moved on to Jevarn. The Targrenite fellow was so short that he put his arms around Jevarn's waist. He might as well have been hugging a pole from the sergeant's stony lack of reaction, letting go after a few very awkward seconds.

"Ding ding ding ah dong dong," I ventured carefully. I hoped it meant 'Hello', but the phrase sounded a lot like 'I eat wood' or 'Surrender or die', so I wasn't sure. I smiled, just to get the message across.

He seemed taken aback for a fleeting moment, but my smile did the trick. He ushered us in, opening the door wide. Jevarn had to stoop to get in. I took off my helmet, setting it on a hat stand a little way in.

I looked around, surprised at how cosy the man's house was. A crackling fire was roaring away in the fireplace, with small pictures lining the mantelpiece above it. The glass windows were thrown open to catch the last of the sun's rays, but overhead 'lectric lanterns glowed steadily. The homespun curtains were tied neatly back, their white almost glowing against the light brown wall panelling. The big room we were in was more of a hall, with a carved wooden long-table that dominated the place. Wooden cutlery was set up neatly on top of it, a far cry from the fleet mess-tables. It looked as if it could have seated twenty people or more, much more than the lone man in front of us. Where was his family?

I looked about, noting the three closed doors at the end of the hall, as well as the back door. I knew instinctively that they would be rather small, seeing how large this hall was. A delicious smell wafted over, and my stomach growled in delight. By Jovi, I was famished! I was drooling!

Jevarn, on the other hand – he didn't like it. His bolter was still slung, but his right hand was hovering dangerously close to his holstered bolt pistol; and he was scratching his left ear, right next to where his comm-bead was. To anyone else the marine would have looked bored to the point of complacency, with one hand hooked in his belt and the other scratching his head. But there was a looseness to his form that only promised explosive, violent action, if you knew how to look. The sergeant was a subtle man.

Our contact tapped himself on the chest. "Humphrey Kotak," he announced. "Ding ding ding ah dong dong! Ding ding ding ah dong dong."

I didn't understand a word, so I was silent as he spread his arms, then flexed his biceps, imaginary as they were. I think our Humphrey was trying to introduce himself.

"Solas Lister," I replied, pointing to myself. I nodded at the sergeant. "Sergeant er...Jevarn."

I paused, suddenly realising that I didn't even know my sergeant's first name. Thankfully, the marine put me out of my misery.

"Sergeant Matthias Jevarn," he stated laconically. Then it was back to me.

"Imperials...um...Ding ding ding ah dong dong," I mumbled. I racked my tired brains, trying to figure out how to say '17th Company Luna Wolves, 2nd Expeditionary Fleet'.

"Ding ding ding ah dong dong?" Humphrey queried. "Ding ding ding ah dong dong?"

_Did he just say 'Are you a tree?',_ I wondered. Was he insulting us?

"Um..." I started.

"Ding ding ding ah dong dong," our contact said, smiling. I smiled back automatically.

"Ding ding ding ah dong dong," I agreed, not knowing what the guy was saying. It seemed best if I just looked like I knew what was happening.

Wait – no! He could be saying _anything_!

"Ding ding ding ah dong dong?" he asked again.

I gritted my teeth. _Jovi damn, Lister! Use your brain!_ I struggled to remember the few set phrases I had learnt from ALICE.

"Ding ding ding ah dong dong," I said deliberately.

Humphrey's brow furrowed, and he waved back hesitantly. "Ding ding ding ah dong dong," he answered.

I grinned. Yes! I got it! I remembered how to say _hello_! In Russtek too!

Now for the rest of the language...

I managed to remember another sentence, so I decided to try it.

"Ding ding ding ah dong dong?" _How are you going?_

The Targrenite looked at me as if I was a complete nutter. To be fair, I probably was speaking like one.

"Ding ding ding ah dong dong," he said after an embarrassing pause. "Ding ding ding ah dong dong?"

"Ding ding ding ah do –" I cut myself off, realising I was just repeating the same phrase in reply. I looked despairingly at Jevarn, by the sergeant looked on indifferently. To buy time I smiled hopelessly at Humphrey. He smiled back.

Then I had an idea. Jevarn didn't know Russtek, right? This idea was absolutely brilliant then!

"Sergeant, I can't get a word out of him," I fibbed quickly, trying to sound mournful. "He doesn't speak proper Russtek. I think the fellow's not right in the head."

Jevarn frowned at this. Instantly, my idea didn't seem half as bright. I suddenly remembered that the sergeant _did _mention he had tried to learn the language back at the road. Oh shit...

"Ding ding ding ah dong dong?" Jevarn spoke haltingly to a confused Humphrey.

I groaned. I knew what that meant! _Do you speak Russtek?_

Our contact nodded, cheeks wobbling. I pulled at my pants uncomfortably. They were still wet, and stuck.

"Ding ding ding...ah dong dong...?" the sergeant grated out unsteadily.

I felt like throwing up my hands in despair. I bet poor Mr Kotak felt that as well.

"Ding ding ding ah dong dong," he replied patiently, probably not wanting to offend the man-mountain in front of him. For the second time today, the Targrenite was forced to say 'hello' to us.

The sergeant turned to me, nonplussed. "Do you know anything else to say?" he rumbled quietly.

"Nope, sergeant," I mumbled guiltily. I knew I'd pay dearly for not learning Russtek, knowing Jevarn.

The sergeant just shook his head, muttering under his breath, "I'd sooner deal with orks than this..."

"Ding ding ding ah dong dong?" asked our Targrenite host. He was now eyeing us like we were a bunch of lunatics. Fortunately for him, Jevarn had the social awareness of a latrine, or else Humphrey would have been red paste on the stone flags.

The three of us went quiet. I took the opportunity to adjust my pants again, resolving never to get wet again. You could cut the silence with a knife. That food smelt great though...

"Right, I tire of this," Jevarn suddenly announced, snapping his fingers. "Initiate Lister, go get the vox and translator machine. Bring Initiate Helfort up with you as well. Tell him to wait outside, and if need be to warn the rest of the squad if trouble finds us. Go!"

"Yes sergeant!" I replied enthusiastically – for real this time.

"Ding ding ding ah dong dong!" I tried to say to Mr Kotak, as friendly as can be. I was trying to say _'I'll be back in a short time'_.

He didn't look like he understood, so as I was walking out the door I tapped my wrist where someone's chrono would be to emphasise 'time'. I finally finished fiddling with my pants, so I put my hands together, just a tiny bit apart to emphasise the 'short' bit. The fat man coloured furiously, but I didn't really notice as I exited the house, leaving him with only my sergeant.

There wouldn't be a word spoken at all, knowing Jevarn.

…...

I found myself at the bottom of the hill a minute later. The sun had rapidly descended, leaving us in twilight. I could see quite clearly though, just not as far as in daylight however.

"Lister!" someone hissed ahead. It was Sernax. I was suddenly staring down the barrel of a heavy bolter.

"That's me," I answered carefully. "Where's Helfort?"

"Where he was half an hour ago! What's going on?" he asked. The barrel moved on.

A half hour? We had been talking for that long?

"We can't get a word out of him," I moaned. "Me and the sarge tried, but nope. Dunno enough Russtek."

"Well that's just convenient," Sernax complained. "But what you need Helfort for?"

"Sarge wants the vox up there too. I suppose Helfort's there to run back down if the enemy turns up," I replied.

"What?" Sernax exclaimed. I noticed a few heads turning in the gloom. "What's the vox for?"

"It's got some translator thingy..." I shuffled around, trying to find the hidden radio. "Where is it?"

"Here," Sernax admitted grudgingly. He shoved the set to me. I made sure that the translator case was still latched on, and slung the radio back onto my back. I didn't say another word as I set off to find Jyon, just nodding in Sernax's direction instead.

"Jyon!" I hissed into the dark. I approached a dimly lit figure. "That you?"

"Ah' ain't no 'elfort!" Skylan's dark form protested, emerging from the shadows of a tree. He waved his arms vaguely, still clutching a beer can. It glinted in the moonlight. By Jovi, how did he manage to take that many in his webbing? "The guy's over there!"

"Sorry bro. Can barely see nothing in this muck." I peered into the deepening gloom. "By Jovi, he's taking this camouflage thing seriously, huh?"

"The guy loves the sarge, ser' obviously. 'Ccording ta' 'elfort, the sun shines outta Jevarn and the Emprah's arse. 'E even told me to do it with 'im, ya' know, conceal yerself under a pile'a leaves and crap. Tried lecturin' me fer ten minutes. Ah' told 'im to bugger off, and fer once 'e did. Jus' 'ope 'e didn't bugger off too much..." There was a slight tinkle as Sky finished the last of his can.

"Well if the enemy _does_ come, I guess he'll be well prepared," I commented diplomatically. "But _is_ there any sign of the Targrenites?"

"Jevarn's bloody 'idolaters'? Naw, it's been quieter than space round 'ere. 'Elfort's crap ta' talk to out in the field, and ya' know wha' those two gits are being like." The can sailed off into the trees.

"Hey – listen ta' this – what's-his-name – Harog," Sky continued, lowering his voice and leaning forwards. "Ah' think he's been cryin' fer the last half-hour! Ah' think e's tryin' na' keep a lid on it, but he's been goin' on and off sobbin' and tha'. Must be the other guy dyin', er...Argeh, wasn't it?"

I gave Sky a dubious look – not like he could see in the darkness. The stars were already coming out. Harog didn't seem like the type to cry – did he? In retrospect, I barely knew the quiet feral worlder.

"You sure, Sky?" I asked doubtfully. "Or is that just the beer speaking?"

"That ain't fair, bra. Ya' know 'ow hard it is fer me to git drunk these days." An slight edge of frustration crept into the Feckulian's voice.

I grinned. Back when we had first met, around seven months ago – Sky needed ten cans of his beer to get him drunk. Nowadays it was more like thirty, and he had to scull it madly to get his kicks. If he got distracted and had to stop he had to start all over again. Poor bastard.

"Shit!" I yelped, suddenly remembering my task. "The sarge is still waiting! Lemme get Helfort, or else my head's on the chopping block for sure!"

"Was wondering when you'd realise tha'." I could hear the smile in my friend's voice. I cursed him as I plunged into the undergrowth.

"Jyon! Get your arse here! Sarge needs you!" I half-shouted into the trees. I tried to keep my voice down, but it didn't work too well.

I only had the faintest rustle behind me to warn me before Jyon cheerily announced in my bad ear, "What is thy bidding, my friend?"

I whirled around, spooked. "Jovi damn, Jyon! Don't creep up on me like that – I could've shot you."

"My dear imbecile," the Hibernian grinned. "This blade of mine would have spitted thee thrice over if I willed it so."

"Yeah – well, don't," I repeated lamely. "Come on, sarge's head is probably fit to explode by now."

"What is mine task?" Helfort asked as we went up the slope.

"Since I'm taking this radio – sorry, vox up, sarge needs someone to warn the squad if Humphrey betrays us or something like that," I explained. "Oh, Humphrey's our contact's name. Humphrey Kotak. Don't be surprised if he hugs you. He did it to both of us, by Jovi! Jevarn let him get away with it, can you believe it?"

"Nay, thy mind is conjuring wildly," Jyon laughed. "The good sergeant's heart is forged of iron!"

"Well, it's true. So don't stab him when he does it to you," I joked. "We haven't got a proper word out of him yet, but he seems like a nice enough guy, for an offworlder."

"A great sin, for a man to speaketh in foreign tongues," he commented philosophically. We reached the doorway.

I tried giving him an accusing glare, but he didn't see it in the dark.

"Yeah," I said, opening the door. "You wait out here. Um, shoot your gun if we start yelling or if you hear gunfire. They'll be able to hear down there."

"Aye, Lister. I hear and obey." Jyon took position. "Good luck."

I grunted in reply as I squeezed through the doorway, careful not to let the radio bump into anything. The contraption was solid enough to put a dent in a tank.

As expected, Mr Kotak and Sergeant Jevarn were as I left them. The Targrenite was now cradling a steaming mug in his hands, now eyeing the towering Terran marine apprehensively. He had evidently noticed how large Jevarn actually was. Another mug sat ignored on the table. The sergeant's, probably.

"Ding ding ding ah dong dong," Humphrey commented as I walked in. His smile seemed a little strained, but I smiled back anyway. The sergeant just glowered at me, all jaded impatience.

I set down the radio on the floor, easing out the handset. I turned it over in my hands for a moment. I had never used this bit of the vox set. In fact, only the sergeant had used it, when he was talking to the cruiser _Moonsword_ in high orbit. I placed the handset on the long table, where it could easily catch all our voices. Hopefully it would translate both our languages, just as ALICE's creators had said.

But knowing the Mechanicus, the device would probably malfunction like a plasma gun.

"Ding ding ding ah dong dong?" our contact asked. He watched on curiously.

As always, I had not a clue what he was saying, so I let off a burst of Russtek that I hoped meant 'Wait a sec!' but probably wasn't. I finished flipping on the switches. The machine hummed to life.

"Is the device functioning?" Jevarn asked.

"Testing! Testing! Hello there!" I enunciated loudly, in Anglish.

Nothing.

I bent down to fiddle with the knobs on the radio's top casing. I quickly realised my mistake. I turned the 'Channel' knob to '3', and the handset beeped.

"Hello there!" I said again. ALICE burst into a flurry of Russtek a moment later.

"Ding ding ding ah dong dong!" Mr Kotak seemed a lot happier now with our translator, gladly saying 'hello' for the third time that night.

We paused, waiting for ALICE's translation back into Anglish. But the damn handset stayed silent! The sergeant and I hurriedly conferred as Mr Kotak fetched another mug for me.

"Emperor's royal arse, initiate!" Jevarn growled. He jabbed a gloved at ALICE's manual, which he had taken out. The marine bent down to adjust the radio. "You're supposed to do this..."

I took the proffered cup thankfully, feeling the heat even through the leather of my gloves. I set it down on the table, giving Humphrey one of Sky's double thumbs-ups.

I barely had time before something hard hit my head, sending me to the ground. I saw stars.

Ironically, that was when ALICE finally decided to translate Russtek back into Anglish.

"Ding ding ding ah dong dong!" _'How dare you insult me, you – you weakling mongrel!'_

The fat man's temples throbbed in apoplectic rage. Jevarn had one eyebrow quirked in astonished bemusement.

"Ding ding ding ah dong dong! Ding ding ding ah dong dong!" _'I am no poorly endowed pansy! I am Mountain King! I have three wives, sired twenty-six legitimate children, countless illegitimate bastards and fifty cows! Do you hear me? My virility is beyond doubt! Male bears flee before my strength!'_

I got to my feet, gaping in shock. Mr Kotak shoved his furious face into mine. I think I heard someone guffaw.

"Ding ding ding ah dong dong! Ding ding ding ah dong dong! Ding ding ding ah dong dong!" _'Turn around and bend over, and you will see what makes my cows and wives scream at night!'_

Holy shit! He actually meant it!

His pudgy hands struggled to find purchase on my armour, but he tugged and pulled anyway. The guy was howling and roaring. Spit flew. The walls were shaking. His shirt went off. The earth quaked. The '_zip_' of his fly was the last straw.

I was out the door in two seconds flat.

"Thy face is as white as linen," Jyon remarked, utterly bored. "Well sirrah? How dost thy 'Humphrey' fare?"

Gasping, I steadied myself against the wall.

"He-he's got a thing for me," I choked out. "Jovi help the sarge in there. We might need to Exterminatus this place if he doesn't come out alive."

Helfort didn't reply. He guessed he was as shocked as me.

I think we stayed like that for an hour.

…...

Things calmed down a bit after that. Jevarn come out a little more than an hour hence looking highly amused. It was one of the rare times I had seen him smile.

According to the sergeant, I had managed to call Mr Kotak a 'flaming pansy' by giving him the double thumbs up. I was still trying to work out how two thumbs up had anything to do with that sort of business. I was warned not to do it again, and ordered to tell Skylan that as well. Just as well, I supposed. I could just imagine the incorrigible Feckulian laughing at our Targrenite.

I sniggered at Jevarn's next warning.

'Do not handle your crotch while talking,' were his exact words. Somehow, I had used the wrong word for 'short' while I was adjusting my pants. To poor Humphrey, it looked like I was pointing at the nether regions and saying he was poorly endowed. To any self-respecting man, this was a clear challenge to his prowess, so I didn't hold it against him. Though having a cup throw at your head still hurt though...

Sergeant Jevarn was surprisingly forgiving about my poor skills with Russtek, in fact he didn't even mention it. Yelling at me over that would have been hypocritical, so I think he decided to let it go. Thank Jovi for that.

We took our dinner in shifts, with Jyon, Harog and I taking the first meal; while Sky was left to lord over Sernax and Mogas. Mr Kotak did eye me beadily at first, but he warmed considerably as he saw me cramming my mouth with the stew he made for us. Along with the spicy bread on the table, that was one of the best meals I ever had. The exotic off-world flavours almost made me forget we were fighting a war, for a moment.

I took the chance to peek surreptitiously at the silent Harog, who was sitting by himself further down the long table. The feral worlder had a swarthy face, sunken cheeks and a very hooked nose. The image of a starved carrion bird rose unbidden in my mind. As I took a closer look, I realised Sky was right! The fellow's eyes were red and puffy. It was almost certain he had been crying. Bloody hell!

"You alright?" I asked, on impulse.

Harog's only reaction was to sink his chin even lower. Any lower and it'd scrape the stone flags below!

Dinner ended abruptly, with the sergeant bursting in and ordering us out to the woods. I groaned, but the marine paid me no heed. In a flash we were out into the night.

"The stars are changed," Jyon commented, studying the unfamiliar night sky. We were walking down the slope, the still-silent Harog trailing a little behind.

I glanced up, not recognising any of the constellations.

"We're in a different place, that's why – that's what I reckon," I added hastily. "I'm sure someone smart like Sernax can explain it to you."

"So far, are we, like ants swept across some great sea to unfamiliar shores," he sighed. "Is it not a wondrous thought?"

"I suppose," I admitted reluctantly. "Though I suddenly feel kinda small."

"A great shame, methinks, that these men have found not the humility to bow to the Emperor. He is good to his subjects."

"Is that so?" I asked.

"Yes! Great beasts laden with food, coming down every day!" he enthusiastically affirmed.

"Hmm," I mused vaguely.

To me, the Emperor's Imperium was two sides of one coin, just like the double heads of the Aquila. One hooded, and the other glaring fiercely at its enemies. Its official meaning symbolised the union Old Earth and Mars at the formation of today's interstellar Imperium, some thirty years ago. But to me, the two heads were like the freakish Navigators the Imperium was founded on. The hooded one, docile and peaceful – that was what the Emperor was like to compliant worlds like Hibernia; an open hand of peace.

Then there was the unblinkered eagle. That was the Legionnes Astartes and the Imperial Army, bringing bloody ruin to non-complaint worlds just as a Navigator's dreaded eye of terror brought hell and damnation to any caught in its gaze.

"Food!" Sky whooped gleefully, as I told him the sergeant's orders. "Beautiful food!"

He raced up the hill, ignoring Mogas' enraged protest to 'Get back down here, we need to get Yumec up!'

"Skylan – urgh..." Sernax muttered. "Get back here!"

His lone figure turned around on the slope. I saw Sky's fist in the air, as if he were leading a charge.

"Eat fer the living! Eat fer the dead!" he yelled, mocking the Legion's warcry. "Um...eat – fer the Emperor!"

With that settled, he plunged into the front door. He didn't come out, so Sernax and Mogas had to drag Yumec and Argeh's body up themselves. Harog got the heavy bolter. I walked a little way out from his position, searching for Targrenites. Jyon did likewise, except on the opposite side. The night was cold and silent, but there was fire in my belly now. Dark boughs rustled and groaned overhead.

I think we were down there for two hours or so, while the three up the top finished their meal. Jevarn came down once to check on how things were going. A while after he left, I heard a suspicious rustle in the bushes.

_Shit!_

My rifle immediately snapped up. I felt giddy and elated, like someone had thrown a switch in me. In truth, I was relieved. In the dark my mind couldn't help but conjure up endless monsters that were coming to get me. Now there was something tangible to fight!

I slowly ducked low behind a fallen log, knowing that any quick movements would catch my foe's eyes. Hearts hammering, I reached for the vox.

It wasn't there.

Jovi damn – it was still up at the house! I knew what I had to do.

I began a painstaking crawl back towards Harog's position. In my mind, every move I made was as loud as a thousand bolters going off, right in my ear. I began cursing myself.

_Put your foot there, damn you! No – no – don't step on that leaf, you dummart!_

A feral growl was all the warning I got. In a flash of red I was tackled, rifle spinning off in this undergrowth.

Jovi damn! That hurt!

The breath was knocked out of me as I was slammed into the ground. I gasped, as my enemy crashed into me again, knives scraping cruelly against my armour vest.

Wait – knives? Who the hell would wield two knives like that?

I punched the furry mass on top of me. It stank to high Elysia – this thing wasn't human! It squealed and leapt off me.

I scrambled to my feet, searching for my lost rifle in the gloom. I couldn't damn find it!

The forest went quiet. Where was my foe? Was this some alien? Some breed of filthy xenoform? Here to eat me, or worse?

I shuddered, unsheathing the knife at my belt. By Jovi, I'd make sure this meal didn't go down well.

The thing attacked again, a dim blur of muscle and fur. This time I could see it. I stabbed at it once as it cannoned into me, knocking the blade from my grasp. We struggled fitfully.

It panted and slavered, drooling onto my vest. I looked into its beady eyes, daring it to try harder. It obliged, the tusks around its snout ever worrying at my ceramite armour.

Tusks? Snout? I nearly laughed. Tusks and a snout – this thing was actually some kind of pig!

With a snarl I gripped the bony protrusions. It squealed in protest. I heaved. The pig flew!

The furry animal bounced hard against a tree. Thrashing wildly, it dived into the undergrowth, finally cowed.

I breathed a sigh of relief. I hadn't been actually scared – of course, but its breath had been horrid.

"Solas! Solas! Pray all goes well?" cried an alarmed Helfort. "Thy head remains in its ordained place?"

"My head's fine," I called back cheerfully. "Some pig took exception to me."

"Where is this boar then?" The Hibernian jumped out from a bush.

"Threw it away."

We paused for a moment, then started laughing at the absurdity of my statement.

"Would have made good eating," Helfort regretfully said, after a while.

"Gah, buddy, its breath stank like a cesspit," I protested. "Besides, our friend Humphrey cooked a good enough meal, eh?"

"Aye, that he did," Jyon agreed. "Shall we offer him a berth in the fleet?"

"P'raps not. Don't think he'd want to join us. Though he'd put the fleet cooks to shame."

Apart from a few pills and tablets given to us by the sergeant, we were free to eat whatever we pleased. We organised meals by ourselves when we were shipborne, going to the different crew mess halls scattered onboard the _Armageddon Knight_. I tried to avoid the one where we had that tussle with the serfs, but I knew Sky sometimes went there when he was looking to blow off some steam. The mess halls varied wildly, some choked in cigarette smoke, others scrubbed down to bare metal. But one thing remained constant – the cooking. I has a theory that the cooking pots were connected to the sewage pipes, but never bothered to check. It was just that shockingly _bad_.

"A pity. Do not be so surprised that our 'cooks' are truly turncoats seeking to poison us," Helfort said dryly.

"Well Jyon, I won't be –"

I quickly stopped myself before I said 'I won't be coming back.'

_Dammit Lister!_ I winced.

"What ails thee?"

"Eh? Nothing – nothing." I waved my arms vaguely.

"Very well," he said. "Thy humours seem imbalanced."

"Um..." I didn't understand.

"Mayhap an excess of choler? I am no physick, but I can bleed thou, if that is thy will," he suggested.

"Bleed me? You mean blood coming out?" I exclaimed, horrified.

I couldn't see his face in the gloom, but I think he looked confused.

"Yes, that was my intent."

"Jyon, er..."

"Hmm. But that would cause thee to be less sanguine, and there is little enough joy in this place already," he decided.

"Coo – ee!" The eerie bird's cry echoed down the slope.

Our heads snapped round. That was the signal to turn-in. Skylan, Mogas and Sernax would be coming down the hill even now.

"Wonder what's happening now?" I wondered out loud.

"We sleep," Helfort said.

"Sounds like a good idea, buddy," I replied gladly. I hadn't slept for over a day.

"Gah, bloody 'ell, yer actually right fer once!" Sky's voice suddenly floated over to us. "Ain't fair, that's what."

His dark form strode towards us, shotgun cradled. His posture looked decidedly unhappy.

"We git first shift, dammit. Bah Toorett, stuck with these gits..." Out came another can. The seal cracked as Sky tugged at it. His head turned to glare at us. "Well? What yer waitin' fer? Git sleepin'!"

We beat it out of there, not at all unhappy at our fortune. I mumbled a guilty 'Good night' to Sky as I left.

…...

Sergeant Jevarn was waiting for us at the front door. His looming form beckoned, and we followed him to a small barn a distance away from the house. I hadn't noticed it before, probably because it had been over the crest when we first approached.

He swung the barn doors out effortlessly. The place had been cleaned out by a thoughtful Mr Kotak in preparation for our arrival. A small lantern hung from the rafters, lit.

"Initiates, you'll quarter here for the night. At 0400 hours you will go down and relieve the other three. You will do this yourselves, or else _I _will come here for you, and you will have the pleasure of spending the next five nights on back-to-back night guard duty. Understood?"

Already sleepy, we chimed out a childish, "Yes sergeant."

"Good. Now I have better news; something that ought to excite you more than perimeter security..."

I yawned.

"The battle barge _Light of Ganymede_ has arrived in orbit, joining strike cruiser _Moonsword_ on the void-side of this planet's moon." A big grin split the sergeant's features. "It might not be our _Armageddon Knight_ and the 17th Company, but it's fellow Luna Wolves alright! I recall this particular vessel belonged to the 9th Company, under the guidance of Brother-Captain Varaladdon."

Helfort was grinning by now. I just eyed a comfy-looking haystack, oblivious to all else.

"This one's a purely Cthonian company, one of Lord Horus' 'experiments' on the relationship between planetary origin and soldiering, I'm led to believe."

Helfort put up a hand. "Pray tell, good sergeant, of the dispositions of our Cthonian comrades."

"A rough, uncouth but honourable lot, from experience. Though there are a few bad apples around, just like anywhere else," Jevarn answered patiently. "You'll see soon enough for yourselves."

I suddenly paid attention, looking up.

"Captain Varaladdon is stealth-landing four squads of aspirants and supplies here tomorrow at dawn, just before the sun rises. A test for them. Consider them Imperial Army soldiers, if you will. Those who live become initiates."

Tough love in a tough galaxy, I suppose.

"It has come to my attention that some of Cthonian descent show some..._hubristic _behaviour when it comes to place of origin. Colonials you may be, but you are initiates of the 16th Legion. You possess Lord Horus' geneseed, they do not. Remember that when some of these little boys boast to you of being born on the commander's homeworld. You are far closer to the primarch than they will ever be, if they continue along that vein. Punish them if it is fitting, otherwise refer the issue to me."

'Colonial' was a term used to describe someone born on a planet more than fifty light years from Old Earth. People born closer to the mother-world were referred to as 'home-worlders' – like Cthonians. Both groups of humans liked to accuse each other of being either 'mutants' or 'inbreds', but most of that wasn't true. It was all friendly rivalry, I reckon.

I shuddered to think of what these aspirants would be like. I hoped they weren't like the kids in the propaganda viewcasts, all gung-ho and spouting 'For the Emperor' every few seconds. And I hoped they weren't ten or some other horrendous age, where those annoying little bastards still felt like they needed something to prove. Sadly, they probably were. Aspirants were selected at a very young age, so I heard. It was easier to educate them and teach them the prescribed values of the Imperium. More like brainwash them!

"No questions?" Jevarn asked from a great distance.

I lurched towards the haystack, yawning fit to burst.

It seemed...

So far...

Away...

**See you later! Updated Chapter 2 is up, No. 3 is next!**


	29. Targren IV: The Coming Storm

**Sammy Holzbein: But cows are cool! Just joking lol. Cheers mate.**

**SGT CJC: Thanks mate. How are your exams going?**

**Alien26: Yeah I try pick 'empty' sort of companies so I don't contradict canon. However, this early on in the crusade, I reckon most of the Horus Heresy books' characters haven't even been born yet. Thanks for reviewing.**

**RogalDorn, prancingdeer: Thanks for the adds!**

**ClickaholicAnonymous: Hey, this is regarding the last message I wrote to you last chapter. I did some counting and I came to conclusion that Lister is only nearing sixteen years old. Sorry for the confusion.**

**Author's note: So sorry for the late-ish update. I made it extra-long though, hope you like it. **

There was a general rush to the latrines in the middle of the night. Gloriously overwhelmed, our previously shrunken stomachs could do little but pass that wonderful meal down to less salubrious reaches. I had a dim recollection of hopping madly in front of the closed out-house door as Helfort did his business, fearing not the scopes of snipers nor unfriendly blades in the dark, just the fact that if the Hibernian didn't come out _soon_, my pants were going to get awfully full and smelly.

It was Jovi's goodwill that compelled him to come out quickly. I don't feel the need to explain anything else after that.

In all, I think we got about five hours sleep. Taking into account Targren IV's thirty hour day, Sergeant Jevarn had dubbed midday as '1500 hours' and midnight as '3000 hours'. It was still jarring to think that three o'clock on a proper planet was now noon on this war zone of a world. So according to our adjusted chronos, we had been off-duty from 2800 hours to 0400 hours; with roughly an hour spent waiting for the Jovi-damned toilet.

The sergeant didn't appear to sleep. He prowled habitually, lurking in the shadows like some murderous predator. I had a feeling he was covering the mountain side of the property, since we initiates had the stream side guarded. Mr Kotak's home was backed up against the slope of the mountain above us, the river forming a bow the bent outwards from the house itself.

An attack from the mountain was unlikely – the rugged mountainside plunged abruptly into a jagged ravine to the west, where the Targrenite city of Libertine and its troops mostly were. An enemy soldiers hoping to reach us would have to traverse the frothing white water at the bottom of the ravine – 'rapids' as the sergeant called them. The cliffs themselves were sheer, and offered no hope of purchase.

I could hear the fury of the watery turbulence in the distance. It was rushing, hissing sound that never seemed to abate. It kept me awake for a while until my ears got used to it.

Speaking of which, my bad ear seemed to have healed up, at least for now. Loud noises still hurt it though.

In almost no time at all Jyon was shaking me awake, ironically roused by the very chrono I had to set for him six hours before. The timepiece beeped incessantly at his wrist.

_That was too damn short..._ I thought groggily. _Oh well..._

"Pray tell – pray tell – how dost thou quell this contraption?" My friend's voice had an edge of alarm in it. The chrono wasn't loud, but made this high-pitched noise that could drive anyone up the wall.

"Here," I mumbled. I groped for the chrono. He unbuckled it and handed it to me gratefully.

Now, there was supposed to a sort of ceremony to turn this thing off, since this chrono had been produced on the factory world of Mars. The skull cog sigil was embossed on the back plate.

Some 'Litany of Deactivation' or other, that was its name.

But since my leavings were in their ordained place down at the latrine and not filling my brain case, I just turned it off without further ado.

With no small amount of regret I heaved myself off the comfortable haystack, leaving a Lister-shaped imprint in it for Skylan and the others to admire. I rubbed my bleary eyes with the back of my sleeve.

Behind Helfort lay the bodies of Yumec and Argeh. I knew now Skylan and I had done a pretty bad number on the feral worlder's head. There hadn't been the slightest peep from him since Mogas had been forced to carry him up. If one glanced quickly, both bodies looked like corpses.

Some cynical part of me wondered when Argeh would start to stink. I quickly quashed that line of thought with a silent apology to Jovi. Such thinking was sacrilegious and disrespectful.

Still, I thought with a humourless smile, a person's dead body tended to get more respect than _they_ ever did in life. A scant week ago, I distinctly remember the squad was wondering whether Argeh the 'stupid ape' was a nancy boy or not. Now dead, he was being treated as if he were made of gold.

Twisted, that's what we humans are.

"What...time?" I yawned, already knowing the answer.

"Time to do our duty," was Helfort's simple answer.

Despite eight months or so of training, nothing could teach the Hibernian how to read, or even count. From what little I could decipher from the data stacks, Jyon hailed from a 'medieval' world that had regressed to using swords and spears and the like. Cut off from the rest of humanity, his distant ancestors had slowly lost all their technology and knowledge, regressing back to their primitive roots. Thinking of Sayre made me realise how lucky we had been, even though _our_ Ancients had made a mess of my home.

How I missed that place, and Jane...

_Bloody hell Lister! _I scolded myself. _Daydreaming is for when you're on the ship home!_

"Ungh," I grunted. "Where's Harog?"

A rustle. He stepped out from from behind the hay, sullen and despondent.

"Morning, buddy," I tried to joke. "Or is it still evening?"

He didn't look at me once.

Well I suppose he needed time to grieve. The poor bastard had spent the night next to Argeh's body.

Come to think of it, there was something between them that went beyond mere friendship...

I hurriedly buckled on my spaulders and tassets, noting that it was only five minutes to the start of our shift. I could sleep quite comfortably in my armour vest, but other pieces such as the leg and shoulder parts dug into my skin as I lay down. Donning our helmets, we made for the door. I gave the enigma of Harog not one more thought.

By Jovi, it was cold! My breath frosted and puffed as soon as I left the barn.

The change of shifts was a quick affair, where I took the heavy bolter and Helfort and Harog settled in at my flanks. Sky was too tired to even cuss at me as he stumbled groggily to the warm comfort of the barn. I knew he would be out cold as soon as his face touched hay.

My fingers closed around the heavy bolter's grip. Even with the tripod, I could feel the well-oiled weight of this killing machine. No wonder Sernax took such care of this hunk of metal. This thing could level armies in the right conditions.

Imagine a machine gun or stubber, except firing the same mass-reactive bolts that bolters used. A scaled-down version of the Astartes heavy weapon, its aim was near uncontrollable when in prolonged use. Instead, its operator would be forced to fire short, choppy bursts for maximum accuracy. That was unless, of course, if Jevarn wanted suppressive fire where precision didn't matter one bit.

I strafed the weapon in an arc, getting a feel for it. The ammo feed rasped as it was dragged across the dirt.

I must have looked like a lunatic doing that, and Helfort seemed to agree.

"What is thou doing?" he hissed.

Contrary to Jevarn's orders, he had stayed too close to me. We were meant to spread out, to disperse and not present bunched targets. But Helfort was human, and he felt the creeping chill of the dark as keenly as the bravest of us. Out in the frosty night, the stars glittering coldly above the looming trees; worrisome dread bit deeply and refused to let go. I couldn't help but feel like I was the last man in the galaxy, sitting still there, under the star strewn skies. Hell, I couldn't help but feel like the silent bullet was coming for me at any moment. So we banded together, sharing the warmth of our company and waiting out the glacial night.

"Trying n-n-not to freeze," I chattered out unsteadily.

I never liked guard duty. In the SFL we didn't sit still when we did – we patrolled the fields around Tommis in groups of two. I fondly recalled those many nights spent talking to Jane under the Sayrean night sky. Now _that_ made guard duty bearable.

In retrospect I always seemed to have been paired with Jane for guard duty. I made a mental note to thank Sammo when I got back to Sayre, as it was his job to manage the guard rosters.

"Dreary, dost thou not reckon?" Helfort mused dryly. "Keep thyself limber."

"B-b-bloody Emperor," I muttered back. I rubbed my palms together to stop my hands from freezing off. "All his fault. And how am I supposed to stay warm like this? Dance with this bolter?"

He ignored the joke, voice rising. "Thou will not blaspheme against His Majesty!"

Jovi damn, he sounded genuinely shocked! My breath clouded as I replied.

"Well it _is_ his fault in sitting here, buddy. Besides, what he doesn't know won't hurt him, eh? 'Sides, _blasphemy_ is a tad religious there."

"Says he who kowtows to a piece of drabble brandishing a ridiculously proportioned fiddle!" was Helfort's heated reply.

"Whoa, take it easy there!" I exclaimed. Helfort was a friend – I didn't want to fight him! But I had to speak out. "Besides, Jovi ain't religion and lies – he's the truth! Ain't nothing but the truth. Oh, and he's got a _guitar_, savvy?"

"Fiction," Jyon growled sullenly. "Blasphemy and fiction."

There was a bit of a pause as both of us struggled to rein in our tempers. I reckon it was exhaustion that was doing this. Being woken up in the middle of the night would make anyone crabby.

Then it hit me.

It was those Jovi-damned _hormones_! Didn't Apothecary Reyedon warn us of this? Didn't he say too much of those insidious little things would make us act strangely? Just look at Skylan, all drained and silent. Then there was Sernax and Mogas, who were all riled up and angry. Hell, look at me! I was mouthing off at everything and anything – well, more then usual that was.

With shaking hands I reached into the front left pouch of my webbing, where I had stowed the vials given to us.

Ow! I jerked my fingers out, wet and bleeding. Something was broken in there!

I winced and sucked on the cuts. They were shallow and were already scarring over thanks to those mysterious Larraman's cells. Carefully, I probed into the pouch using a patch of moonlight to guide myself.

Shattered glass. Blood hell, they were broken! Amidst the wreckage I pulled a single intact vial and held it to the faint light. It was green. Painkiller.

I emptied the rest of the pouch onto the ground. Smashed glass and liquid tumbled out.

"Shit," I cursed.

So this was why we were going nuts. I had forgotten to take the anti-hormonal agents, even after I told Sky I would try them out. How I rued that moment of foolishness now.

"Eh? Realised the perfidy of thy words?" Jyon snapped irritably.

I chose to ignore that. "Jyon...you haven't been taking those vials the apothecary gave you, right?"

"What?" he said, genuinely alarmed. "Oh no!"

I heard the sound of frantic rustling as he searched for the vials.

"Yellow or green?" he demanded.

"Yellow. Green is if you're in pain," I replied.

There was a greedy sucking noise as Helfort downed a vial. I just hoped they would calm him down.

"So," he asked flatly, after a bit. "Why is thou so opposed to the Emperor's righteous work?"

"I'd tell you, if we stay civil and talk it out, instead of yelling at each other. And what we say stays between you, me, and the moon," I said slowly. "Is that a deal? Will you do that?"

I sincerely didn't want another fight.

"Aye. On my honour, I shall," Helfort agreed grudgingly.

I nodded. "Right, where to start..." I sat still for a moment, unsure. Haltingly, I began. "I was born an orphan on planet Sayre. At the age of fifteen I was sent to the ruler of the Sayre's – we called him the Tyrant – Planetary Defence Service to fight the Imperium."

I gave a dry laugh at my words. Fight the Imperium? Who could possibly do that?

"I ran away, with a girl named Jane Dell. Remember that girl I was telling you about? That was her. We were caught by the rebels, and to cut a long story short – we joined them to fight the Tyrant. Hell, that was the life. Days spent on the road, just us two and a few other kids. For me – for an orphan, that was like having a family. Jane and I were mam and da, and since the other kids were little they were like our children, I guess."

Helfort nodded thoughtfully, silent.

"The Imperium was coming, so we attacked the Tyrant proper. Raids, ambushes, and such. The Imperium was our friend, so our leaders said. Our hometown was Tommis. A day after the space marines landed, the Tyrant burned it."

"Should thou not be thanking the Emperor for his myriad boons?" Helfort cut in.

"Wait, I ain't finished yet," I said forcefully. "Yeah, I admit I wasn't too close the people who were killed. I didn't even know some of them."

The bitter words threatened to choke my throat. I forced myself to go on. They demanded release, after more than half a year of imprisonment.

"I didn't realise it at the the time. Hell, all that was one my mind at that time was to kill the bloody Tyrant! But you know when I finally understood what I had lost? I was shot. Shot after the damn Tyrant was dead. Ain't fair, that's what! This bastard, this evil man who had something for me. And the _mighty_ Imperium didn't even manage to kill him when they were supposed to!"

I found myself nearly strangling the trigger as I was raving. With great effort, I forced myself to calm down.

"I lost all I had when they took me up to the fleet," I sighed tiredly, looking up at the stars. Searching, ever searching, for Sayre.

"The Imperium bombed the hospital, you know that?" I continued. "What sort of person attacks a _hospital_? When I was shot there was nowhere to go – that was the only hospital in the hemisphere. So it was the Imperium's fault, dammit! Now I look back and _see_ the truth, by Jovi!"

"They did heal you," Jyon pointed out bleakly. "Thy body is whole."

"This might as well be living death," I spat bitterly. "Wake up four in the morning, each and every day! Do a thousand pointless exercises, and for _what_? To be a murderer! That's right, I'm a _fucking_ murderer! On Sayre, yeah I killed! I admit it – I admit it! But here? This ain't my war. I'm not fighting for anything I believe in. It's pointless slaughter! You think the people did anything for the 'great' 2nd Expedition Fleet to come crashing down on them?"

"Unity," Jyon stated. "We fight for the unity of mankind."

"Unity be damned!" I snarled. "How the Emperor does it is wrong! I want to go home, dammit! I want to have a life! A real life, not some farce of one onboard some metal tomb in space! The Emperor is wrong! Shoot first, talk later –"

"On the contrary," Helfort interrupted. "He did not –"

"He's a bastard! A power hungry –"

"Thou shall hear my words _now_," Jyon snapped. "When His Majesty came to Hibernia, his envoys sent word of his coming months beforehand. How the streets rejoiced! Our lost brothers from the stars! Millennia passed following Hibern's landing, and not a word came from the motherland. You cannot understand how we felt. _We are not alone after all_, we said to each other on the streets. _Mankind survived_."

"How does –" I began, but Helfort ploughed on without pause.

"He came from the maw of a great metal beast, just as Hibern did ten thousand years ago. It dwarfed our keep that watched over fully half the fiefdom. Alas, that day. How He shined, brighter than our hopes could dare to dream of. The sun dulled as it looked to Him. 'My brothers and sisters,' He said. 'We have not forgotten thee.'"

"Sounds charming, but anyone in glittering gold armour could do that," I objected.

Despite myself, I couldn't help but be intrigued by Helfort's tale.

"Heed me, and open thy ears! My tale has not finished, still thy tongue for now. For aeons Hibernia played unwelcoming host to a horde of greenskins. Orks, filthy orks! At the end of each winter the foul animals would sally forth from their forest strongholds, looting and pillaging. All would die before them, everyman and warrior alike. Each year, at great cost to all fiefs, we would push them back. If we did not, the land would burn. And burn it did, too many times to count."

"And so His Majesty did look upon these infested forests. He turned to us. 'I bring light' he said. He raised a hand, and at His command a flock of sky beasts swooped in and brought ruin to the forest. All was silent. Then, slowly, we heard it."

His voice dropped to a whisper. I leaned in.

"Heard what?" I asked.

"_Waagh_! That was their battle cry, the doom of innocent lives and goodness alike! The greenskins survived, and at the edge of the burning forest a great host gathered. Their red eyes glowed with a fury that made even the hardest warriors quail. Man, woman alike trembled and wavered. We were without arms, helpless babes against the incoming tide. But not the Emperor!"

Helfort's eyes gleamed with pride.

"His voice was like thunder. 'Hold!' he roared. 'The strength of man is yet spent!' There was a great flash as two warriors appeared, garbed in gold like His Majesty, yet lesser in stature to Him. Three men, against thousands. The Emperor raised his blade, a great longsword as red as the humours that flow through thy veins. And he said this. 'Together we stand, and together, we shall never fall.' Then, as if to do battle with Fate herself, the three charged."

"No greenskin could stand before their might. His blade flashed, rose and fell, rose and fell! Over the tumult we heard him cry, 'I bring justice!' A gold taloned hand reached forth to the heavens. In answer, spears of light descended, scattering the shrieking greenskins like chaff to the wind. After that, not a sound."

"Bear with me, dear Lister, for my tale is soon to end. For ten thousand years we fought the greenskin, yet had not the strength to prevail. But to look upon the iridescent skies that day..."

His voice trailed off, lost in wonder. Slowly, Helfort continued his tale.

"...It was as if the dread yoke Old Night was finally to be cast aside. Millennia of suffering, swept aside from sunrise to sunset. On that day the Emperor camest to Hibernia with the bright fire of brotherhood."

Suddenly, his eyes locked with me. Even shaded, the anger and disappointment was a palpable force.

"That is why, Lister, I hath not a touch of thy absurd condition. I name thee selfish! What great man are _you_ to oppose Him? Is thou a great savant versed in the arts of kingship? Tell me that, Lister, illuminate me!"

Shocked, I couldn't reply for a second. My jaw worked furiously. I turned away.

Who was _he_ to call me selfish? _He_ wanted _me_ to give up everything for the 'unity of mankind'!

What if I didn't care? What if that was the lot of others, people like him – people with the will to do so? By Jovi, _this – was – not – my – war_!

Now I understood Sky's resentment towards Helfort. His words rose unbidden in my mind.

"_According to Helfort, the sun shines out of the Emperor's arse!"_

It couldn't have been truer.

"I don't need to illuminate you, Helfort," I said coldly, lacing my words with venom. "You're already blind."

"A bitter brew thou hast poured for thyself," he snapped. "How thou shall rue the dregs of they foolishness. Cease now, I bid thee!"

_You're a fool – you're a fool – you're a fool – you're a fool..._

"No," I retorted. "I ain't backing down from what I believe. The Emperor's a bad man, and he's gonna get his arse busted one day!"

"Sedition!" the Hibernian hissed. "Thou wouldst do well to quell thy tongue."

This had gone on long enough. The Imperial Truth swore to stamp out zealotry and religion wherever it should have looked inside their own borders first.

By Jovi, if there were more people out there like Helfort, there would be a church worshipping the Emperor.

_You're a fool – you're a fool – you're a fool – you're a fool..._

I suddenly regretted my outburst. Wasn't it my mouth that had gotten me into that scrap with Yumec? Wasn't it this which had gotten me in trouble? Helfort was a friend – albeit a distant one, but that was my fault. I didn't want to make things worse. Jovi damn, I needed to shut it!

"Er, Helfort?" I mumbled awkwardly in the face of my friend's glowering silence. "Look I'm sorry buddy. This whole war thing is getting on my nerves. You know I didn't mean that."

He grunted. I could tell he wasn't exactly satisfied. "Thy thought are thy own, but do not give life to them! Distasteful as they are, I only bid thee to show caution, that is all."

Helfort leaned closer, pointing up and hissing this. "Thou would do well to be less...vociferous, Lister. Our reinforcements are many, and young. Ah, children are ever sycophants – and little pitchers _always_ have little ears. Heed me well!"

I saw the sense in that. Aspirants were of course, _aspiring_ to get their geneseed. And what better way to show your worth than to prove your loyalty by rooting out 'sedition'?

"Alright, Helfort," I said resignedly. "I won't say a word of this to the aspirants. And sorry, again. I spoke out of turn."

"I only hope, Lister, that one day thou shall realise the wonder of the Emperor's Imperium," the Hibernian replied patiently. "What we do now is history in the making – something monumental – something everymen shall speak of in awe ten thousand years hence. But let us speak no more of this. Water under the bridge, if thou will see it that way."

I nodded, glad that the confrontation was over. "Yeah, that'll be the end of it." That was a lie.

...

The dropships came in nearly unnoticed, the only warning being the stars winking out as they whispered overhead. We sprinted up the slope to greet our new arrivals as they unloaded. Jevarn was waiting for us.

"Took your time," he grunted, looking over the two of us. "At least you two had the sense to leave one man on guard."

We had left Harog with the heavy bolter. The feral worlder didn't want to talk; we wanted to see the dropships – it worked out for all of us. The sergeant spoke again.

"One of these ships is carrying a load of munitions and weaponry," he remarked. "Initiate Helfort, you will take a rifle from it when it lands."

"Yes sir," Jyon replied. "May I ask what model?"

"Terra Nova DR-901." The sergeant watched pensively as the sleek dropships deployed their landing gear. The anti-grav arrays on their bellies made the air shimmer.

I nodded. In our classes we had been required to learn about all types of weaponry used by the Imperial war machine. The Terra Nova DR-901 was a mid-range autogun used by some regiments of the Imperial Army. From what I could recall, it wasn't terribly accurate, more suited to clearing out buildings with its rapid rate of fire.

The sarge turned to me now. "You'll keep that autogun, Initiate Lister. You are now the sharpshooter; that rifle looks better machined than our Terra Novas."

I gave a relieved salute. "Yes, sir."

The blocky Terra Nova was another ugly example of Imperial manufacture. It was a scopeless and low-maintenance weapon, designed for some of the less tech-savvy regiments of the Emperor's forces. It was a sad but irritating truth. The diversity of the Imperial Army was such that Old Earth barbarians wielding power spears could find themselves fighting alongside drop-troopers armed with the latest marks of lasgun.

The dropships came down with a muffled boom, pneumatic pistons in the landing gear groaning as the weight of the landers drove them into the ground. Clouds of steam billowed into the night. As we approached, their shape became clear. Like us, the 9th Company had used Aquila Landers to ship in their aspirants, encased in ice and painted black to fool surface sensors. There were four in total.

"There will be three squads of aspirants in total, each numbering eight. They are led by an aspirant-coporal," Jevarn told us. "Do not be fooled by their rank. These are merely aspirants who are slightly older than their peers, in some cases...well, incompetents. For some of them this will be the last chance to prove themselves worthy."

"What happens to them if they fail?" I wondered aloud. "Sir."

"Serfhood, and the true failures are rendered down into servitors."

"Oh," I replied lamely.

"Yes," Jevarn drawled. "Expect some foolhardy heroics, even from the normal aspirants. If you're so inclined you'll spend as much time _rescuing_ them as actually fighting the enemy. _I_ certainly won't bother."

From what the sergeant was saying, these aspirants sounded like a bunch of glory hounds. He obviously didn't think much of them, nor the idea of fighting alongside them.

We fell silent as the cargo bays opened with loud cracks of splintering ice. They glowed deep red from the emergency lighting inside. The sound of boots on metal rang out in the night.

Short figures emerged from the maw of the ship in front of us. Clad in oversized helmets and fatigues, they looked like children playing dress-ups. The boots looked too large for their feet, flapping about like a pair of black dogs' ears.

They approached us, the identity of their aspirant-corporal obvious from his height. Not that he was in any way tall – I was still taller than him by more than a head. The kid couldn't have been older than fourteen. He looked distinctly nervous as he stood in front of us.

"A-a-aspirant-Corporal Mymriddon," he stuttered, shrinking under our gaze. "Squad Bravo, reporting for duty sir."

I glanced to the side. The sergeant, as ever, was a scary bastard by the virtue of just being alive. Meanwhile, Helfort had his arms crossed, and so had I – our guns slung behind our shoulders. It was just to ward off the cold, but from the boy's point of view it would have indicated displeasure. I felt sorry for the kid, but I was cold. I stayed put.

To say we looked intimidating was an understatement. The low rims of our helmets, meant to deflect shrapnel, now reduced our eyes to black hollow cavities. Our dark, segmented armour added even more bulk to our already hefty forms. We looked every bit like soulless Imperial soldiers.

"At ease, corporal," Jevarn growled. "Are there any problems you wish to inform me about?"

"No sir!" Aspirant-corporal Mymriddon was eager to please. I noticed the poor boy's voice hadn't broken yet. "We're ready to do the Emperor's work, sir!"

"Very good, attend to your squad then."

As Mymriddon left I heard Helfort muttering 'sycophant' to himself, too low for the kid to hear. I frowned. No one would want to be a servant for the rest of their lives, much less a servitor.

The other two squads disembarked, their landers taking off into the starry night. Their leaders approached us now, splitting off from their respective squads.

"Aspirant-corporal Deviddon...sir," drawled the taller of the two. He had a distinctively oily tone to his voice that I instantly disliked. He appeared significantly older than the rest of our new arrivals. I wondered why. Almost as as an afterthought, he added, "Squad Charlie."

The sergeant's lips thinned, then curled into a lean predatory smirk. There seemed to be a moment of silent communication between him and Deviddon. The Cthonian blanched, saluting.

"I await your orders sir!" He slouched off in retreat.

I watched the exchange in confusion. What in Jovi's name was happening? I resolved to find out later.

We turned to the last aspirant-corporal, who was pulling a sheaf of papers out of his shirt. He obviously hadn't wanted to crumple them by placing them in his pockets or webbing. They must have been important.

"Aspirant-corporal Tyraal, reporting sir," he reported. "Of Squad Alpha."

"Platoon leader then?" Jevarn inquired, rhetorically.

"Yes sir. I've communication from Captain Haran here, and the maps and imaging your lordship has requested. I've taken the liberty of grouping related maps together sir." He handed the papers over. He seemed a very clean-cut fellow. 'Got his marbles all lined up', they'd say on Sayre.

Like his two other cohorts, he spoke with what I had come to recognise as a Cthonian accent; guttural and direct. It was quite grating, but I had certainly heard worse from a certain redheaded initiate...

The sergeant leafed through them, saying, "My thanks to you, corporal..." He looked back up from the papers – metaphorically, since always towered over us. "All in order then. You are dismissed. Instruct your platoon to camp in the trees – Initiate Helfort, show them there."

"Yes sir," the Hibernian said, looking at me. "Lister..."

"Yeah sergeant, can I go –"

"I require your 'skills' in translation with the Targrenite. He seems fond enough of you, Emperor knows why."

I opened my mouth to protest, but one look at Jevarn quelled any thoughts of disobedience. Helfort and the aspirant Tyraal set off, not before Helfort shot a look of abject horror at me. The seemingly awestruck aspirant-corporal was already bombarding him with questions.

"What's having a second heart like? – Can your bones punch through steel? – Have you spoken to Lord Horus? – How much poison can you drink before you faint? – Oh, I'm from Cthonia by the way, you?"

"Right," the sergeant snapped as they left. "Time to figure out why this Aquila hasn't lifted off yet. Follow me!"

We approached the last Aquila lander. Unlike the others, the cargo hatch hadn't popped open immediately. Come to think of it, there were only three squads of aspirants, why did they need four dropships then?

As we drew nearer, the answer became clear. Loud bangs and curses echoed through the lander's metal skin. The sergeant snorted. He banged a fist against the metal three times.

"Imperials, coming up to the cockpit!" he shouted, quite loudly.

The noises stopped. There was scraping sound, and the hull clanged three times in reply. I heard a muffled voice, but it was too soft to make out what was being said.

The sergeant leapt fearlessly onto the Aquila's wing, untroubled by the ice caking the surface. He nimbly made his way to the cockpit. I busied myself by inspecting the unmoving cargo hatch, trying to see if there was a problem.

I looked it over, eyes straining to see anything other than black metal and encrusted ice. In the darkness it was nearly impossible. I gave up eventually, contented to just admire the machine.

The Aquila lander was shaped like the Imperial symbol, just as its namesake suggested. A barrel shaped cockpit sat between two swept-forward wings. I stood on my tiptoes to see the top of the wing. Some Aquilas had feather lines carved into the wings – no – this was a military craft, and such ornamentation only detracted from its speed. What decorations it lacked the dropship made up in firepower.

Slung under the wings were four missile pods wrapped in smooth cowlings. Heat seekers, probably. Their purpose was to knock enemy interceptors out of the sky, since the Aquila lander's main job was to land personnel as quickly as possible. The pair of rotary cannons looked like an afterthought of the craft's engineers.

I shook my head. It looked like Jevarn's lessons had finally paid off. I actually knew something.

There was a loud groan and a screech as the hatch began to move. I yelped, diving away just in time for the deployment ramp to slam down, right where I had been standing moments before.

There was a low rumble as something heavy slid down the ramp, smashing into the grass and ploughing a muddy furrow. A crate, my shocked mind realised.

"Evening!" called a cheery Terran voice. "All right there?"

I picked myself off the ground. "Yeah," I grunted. "Just my pride."

There was a laugh. "Damn, if there's one time in your life to pick an real accident, it's now!" Further in, I heard the sound of chortling.

"How come?" I asked, shading my eyes. Unlike the other three transports, this Aquila's interior was brightly lit, dazzling my eyes. "Who are you?"

"Us?" the voice yelled back. A figure appeared in the hatch. "We're you're nursemaids!"

Oh – brilliant, I suppose...

…...

As it turned out, our 'nursemaids' were actually the apprentices of the Apothecaries. One look at their uniforms confirmed it. In addition to the usual combat armour, they wore white armbands on their shoulders with a red cross emblazoned on it. A red double helix, the symbol of the Apothecarium, was daubed on the front of each of their helmets.

There were four in total, and the five of us had to lug an armoury's worth of supplies to the barn. The sergeant had gone to inspect the aspirants' camps, despite his delight at our new supplies. Thankfully, Helfort came back a while later to help.

"Ebenezar Lukarn," the one of with the Terran accent had introduced himself as. We shook hands over a crate of bolter ammunition. "Call me Ben, though. My ma says it's a dignified name, but it makes me feel old."

"Solas Lister," I replied. "Ain't much better, so call me Lister."

We laughed at that, an easy bond of friendship fast forming between us. He had a wide, open face that I took a liking to instinctively. He had black hair, a shade lighter than mine that was cropped short, and hazel eyes that sparkled with mirth.

"So," he said, looking over me. "First three, I gather?"

I was confused for a second, until I realised he meant geneseed implants. I nodded. "That's right. How 'bout you?"

"Same," he grunted, sweating from our load. From the menacing way the crate clinked I think we were carrying bombs. "By the Emperor, this is heavy!"

After a back-breaking hour of work, we finally got the munitions and medical equipment up into the barn. Roused by the noise, Skylan had decided to go sleep in Mr Kotak's hall – which Sernax and Mogas ironically decided was a good idea too. The barn was now transformed into a quartermaster's store.

Meanwhile, Sergeant Jevarn had gone to confer with Mr Kotak. I expected our Targrenite host to be rather dismayed at his additional guests, but he merely shrugged and took it in stride. Still, he seemed very glad when the sarge had told him that the aspirants were cooking their own dinners.

Further down near the stream, the three squads had set up camp. Low tents had sprung up, simple shelters comprising of a pair of tarps strung between two trees. Small cooking pits had also been dug. They barely showed, so I found myself doubting that anything would be cooked properly down there.

I had been sent off by Jevarn, who told me, "I don't want any useless rumour-mongering, so be off until I call you back. Get one of the apprentices to look at Initiate Yumec as well."

I had happily obliged, chatting with the apprentices. Helfort was helping one of them lift a particularly large crate. Irritated at the constant mouthful of that title, I had commented about it to Ben.

"It's a chore to say that," I said.

"Well the apothecaries tell us we're 'only mundane medics' right now," Ben had shot back. We were in the final stages of stacking the munitions crates. "I suppose you can call us that. Though wouldn't it be easier if you knew our names?"

"Right then, Mr 'only mundane medic'," I quipped. I turned to another apprentice as he passed by with a crate. "Evening. Name's Lister."

He had a rather pale face, which always seemed to be on the verge of smiling. His hair was flaxen. I had a a strong feeling that he was Cthonian.

"Hello. Fenton Niddon, that's me," he smiled, confirming my suspicions.

"Wha –" I began, but a loud voice cut us off.

"Damn, what happened to this one?" the speaker bawled. The medic tending to Yumec looked up from his gory work. "Right mess he is!"

He was unmistakeably Terran, yet his accent suggested he came from a different region of Old Earth to Ben.

"Er," I guiltily began. "His head met a rock."

"Head met a rock, head met a rock..." muttered the fellow. The other medics held their breath. "WHAT SORT OF IDIOT IS HE?"

"Um..." The seething medic was staring daggers at me, as if it was my head that had met a rock.

"Now, now," Ben interrupted. "I'm sure Lister would've preferred that particular rock to never made its acquaintance with this initiate's skull..."

Helfort coughed. I looked away, flushing.

"...but life is somewhat less accommodating that what we would like. Remember those crazy orks on Hufra V?"

The medic still looked thunderous, but I sensed the worst was over. He grunted and went back to his work.

"Yes, our apologies for that," Ben said quietly. "Reag takes it personally if someone even bites their nails off."

Reag looked up and gave Ben a bloodstained middle finger for his trouble.

Half and hour later, the six of us were sitting in a circle in the barn. We had pulled a few crates down for chairs. Not munitions crates – obviously, but food crates were suitably non-explosive for our fragile posteriors. The sergeant hadn't called yet, and I was relishing this free time.

"OK, people, meet Initiates Solas Lister and Jyon Helfort," Ben announced. He seemed to be the most senior of the group. He pointed to everyone in turn, starting with himself.

"I'm Ebenezar Lukarn." Helfort shook hands with him. "Formerly of the Nordafrik Enclaves, you know – on Terra."

"That's Reagan Quarx, call him Reag." Ben pointed to the stocky medic that had tended to Yumec. He had a pug nose and rather squashed features. The guy stuck out two hands for us to shake. I gingerly took one by the wrist, despite his assurances that his hands were clean.

"I'm telling you, they're clean, spotless!" he protested. Helfort had done the same as me. "Oh, be like that then! Where you two from, by the way? You don't look half Cthonic."

"They don't, don't they?" Niddon grinned. He said to Helfort, "Fenton Niddon, at your service."

"I'm from Sayre," I answered. I got a blank look from the four.

"Hibernia," Jyon added.

From their faces they didn't know about his homeworld either.

"Colonials then?" Ben concluded. "How far out from Terra?"

"Er, 'round eighteen thousand light years for Sayre, I think," I replied, trying to remember my history lessons.

"How 'bout you Jyon?" Reag asked.

"Um..." He didn't know what a light year was, let alone count them, the poor guy.

Feeling sorry for him, I said, "Round the same for him. We're all from the same neighbourhood."

"So you're _all_ colonials?" Ben was rapt. "I thought the legion only recruited from Terra and Cthonia."

"More from Cthonia," Niddon corrected. "It _is_ the commander's birthworld."

"All right, but tell us about how your ancestors survived the Old Night!" The medics leaned in.

So we swapped stories, as everyone did when they met someone from another world. The Old Night was just another name for the Age of Strife, or the Time of Blood. It was a subject close to anyone's heart.

I told the group of Bon Jovi and Sayre's battles against psykers, mutants and thinking machines; just as Jyon told them of Hibernia's colonisation. In turn, Niddon spoke of Cthonia's ruin, and how the Ancients had mined the planet until it was honeycombed with tunnels, even all the way down to its core. He also touched upon how the primarch Horus had come to Cthonia, and his rise to power amongst what remained of the planetary government.

But most fascinating was the tale of Old Earth. Reag and Ben took it in turns to explain its history, from its downfall at the end of the Dark Age of Technology to the continent-spanning wars between rival barbarian warlords. They spoke of places I only thought existed in legend, such as the Ural Mountains and Ursh. Ben was particularly keen on telling us about the many atomic evils of Merica –

"Wait!" I suddenly interrupted Ben, just as he was launching into another frivolous tale of genocide. "You're talking about _a Merica_?"

Legend had it that there were four Mericas that had existed; the Merican Empire, the Merican Hegemony, the Unified Systems of a Merica and the United Sectors of a Merica. We called the last two '_a_ Merica' because historians couldn't decide which one had come before the other. The few Ancient artefacts that had been found indicated the Ancients didn't know either. I remember seeing one at a museum, the faded blue missile casing reading 'UNIT – O – AMERICA'. It was widely believed that the words 'A' and 'MERICA' had been typed together by a rogue printer; probably the vindictive actions of a thinking machine to confuse later generations.

Silicon bastards.

Anyway, the Merican Empire had definitely come first, conquering Old Earth by atomic fire. It had been led by a hungry ogre named Gitler who was a dirty cannibal. A mass global genocide went on for a century under his rule, which nearly killed off everyone on the planet in the name of 'good genetics'.

Gitler was eventually overthrown by a dynasty that came to found the Merican Hegemony, not that it was much better. By that time the Sol System had been colonised. In a bid to stop its rival empires from gaining more territory, the Merican Hegemony had bombed rival-controlled planets with warp filth and the usual – atomics.

The legends became a bit hazier after that. What was known was that the Hegemony was supplanted by a mysterious figure only known as Chairman R. Mackdornold. He founded either the Unified Systems of Merica or the United Sectors of Merica, ruling the human galaxy with an iron fist. Those were the Ancient Times, where mankind had prospered despite the tyranny of its rulers.

Since both interstellar empires formed the acronym 'USM', there was a joke on Sayre that it actually stood for 'Ubiquitous Shit of Mankind'. The Ancient Mericans were hated by everyone, but it was a fact that technological relics of those two empires were found everywhere through humanspace; usually in the form of weapons. Such things were wisely left alone, since the Mericans had an unhealthy obsession with atomic weapons.

"Yeah, that's right," Ben said. "North of the Panahmic Crater and south of the Fissilic Wastes of Khunadia. So even you colonials have heard of those villains?"

"By Jovi, _everyone's_ heard of them!" I exclaimed. "What happened to them in the end?"

Reag rubbed his hands gleefully. "The Emperor, beloved by all, decided to level their capital. With their own captured fissilics." He clapped and whooped.

I grinned. Fissilics was the Terran name for atomics. Merica choking on its own radioactive rope – now _that_ was funny!

Ben looked rather embarrassed. "Don't blame Reag, fellows. He comes from Nullius Australis, which was –"

"A fissilic dumping ground for the filthy Mericans! They turned the whole inland continent into radioactive slag!" Reag broke in, incensed.

"What's that?" asked Helfort. "What is Nullius Australis?"

"You never heard of it?" Ben said disbelievingly.

"Best place in the world!" Reag exploded, before muttering. "That was until Cardinal Tang came."

"Was he really that bad?" Niddon snorted sceptically. He crossed his arms, looking distinctly unimpressed.

Reag turned a dangerous shade of puce before the Cthonian wilted and fell silent, raising his arms in mock surrender. Ben guffawed.

"Nullius Australis is a continent south of what used to be the Yndonesic Bloc. Mind you, it's not really a continent, since there's a land bridge between the Bloc and Australis," Ben commented as Reag fumed. "Cardinal Tang – the ruler of the Yndonesic Bloc – he controlled territory about one hundred kilometres south of the bridge, if I remember right."

"Why no more?" Helfort wondered. "Thou speaketh of a continent?"

Reag grimaced. "Well you see, the full name of my homeland is Terra Nullius Australis, which in High Gothic means 'No-man's land in the south' or something like that. Very early on much of the continent was used as an dumping ground for spent reactor rods, and also fissilic weapons because it was...er, _geologically stable_. Of course, when the earthquakes came the fissilics lost containment, and I reckon you've heard enough stories of when _that_ happens."

Helfort and I grunted in agreement. Traders regularly brought tales of entire worlds burned to clinker by atomic fire.

Ben suddenly gave a small cough, pointing to the last member of their group that hadn't been introduced. We had completely forgotten about him, so quiet he had been.

"This is...sorry mate, I forgot your first name," the Terran said ruefully. "I know your last name's Delbryen, but..."

"That's alright," the unnamed fellow said. He was rather skinny for an initiate, with bright blue eyes and very pale skin. He was also towheaded. Apart from his piercing eyes, he gave off the impression that he was at the point of fading away.

"So what is your name?" Ben asked, brow furrowed.

Leaning over, Reag explained quietly to me that, "He's a new guy – we just met him on the shuttle down."

"Virkran Delbryen," the fellow said shyly. He scratched his head fitfully. "And before you ask, I'm from Saturn."

"What's that?" I blurted out.

Virkran Delbryen – odd name, that – gave me a confused glance. "You never heard of the Saturnine Union?"

"Nope, sorry buddy." I shot a glance at Helfort. He shook his head.

"Well, it's not as famous as Old Earth, but surely..." He trailed off, looking disappointed.

"You lot are supposed to be spacers, right?" Fenton Niddon exclaimed excitedly. "Saturnine Fleet – the Battle of Nebula Viridian?"

The pale Saturnian brightened considerably. "Yeah, and the wrecking of Space Hulk 231A7! My grandpa was an officer on one of the ships that did that," he added proudly.

"How come _you_ aren't a spacer then?" Reag queried pointedly.

"Oh," Delbryen muttered bashfully. "Well his son – my father – he wasn't exactly the navy type. He landed a job on Titan, and well...we've been there ever since."

"Titan!" Ben snorted, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "Urgh!"

"What's this now?" I asked desperately, now utterly confused. "I'm not following what you're saying."

"_Titan_ is a _moon_ that orbits _Saturn _in the Sol System," Ben informed me, exasperated. "Didn't you pay attention in history classes?"

I rubbed my nose guiltily. "I was busy sleeping," I admitted bashfully, with a grin.

"No wonder," Reag snorted. "I was getting the impression that _you_ should've been the one with the broken head."

Helfort coughed again.

"Hmm, yes," I said quickly, before the others could catch on.

We turned back to Delbryen. "So how come you left?" Ben asked. "The Saturnine Union is a protectorate under the Charter Imperialis – you didn't need to sign up to the military."

The Charter Imperialis was a clause that allowed the Imperium to levy volunteers or conscripts into the Imperial Army. It also extended to the twenty Astartes legions, but it was invoked less often by the legions. If Saturn was an Imperial protectorate, then no armed forces could be levied unless offered by the people.

The Saturnian looked uncomfortable. "Well," he began. "I failed miserably at astrogation and mathematics – I blame my father for that. And you know what Titan's like..."

"What a dump!" Reag snorted.

"Truly?" Helfort asked.

Both Ben and Delbryen made gagging noises.

"Titan wasteworks anyone?" Reag laughed.

"Well, for colonials it sounds alright, but you've obviously never been to the Sol System if you say that," Delbryen said, looking at the two of us. "Titan was completely irradiated a few thousand years ago, so not many people live there – just _one_ settlement there in fact! In fact, there were only a hundred people there, and I was related to most of them..."

He somehow looked disgruntled and revolted at the same time.

"Anyway – forget that I said that, mind – most of the planet is covered by, as Reag pointed out, the Titan wasteworks. The moon was originally the drop-off point for Saturnine Fleet personnel's – ah...wastes and emissions. After we unified with Terra, I suppose every ship that goes in and out of the Sol System dumps their...droppings there."

I guffawed. "Why not just dump it out in space? It's so big."

Virkran looked horrified, as if I had just grown a second head.

"A Retribution-class battleship typically produces three hundred _tonnes_ of human waste matter a day," Virkran Delbryen recited. "Ships of the line generally jettison their waste every month or so. Can you imagine the size of the...er, crap-ball?"

_Wow,_ I thought to myself. _A giant turd asteroid hurtling through space._

"And," he continued relentlessly. "Any matter released from a vessel will assume the velocity of its 'parent' at the point of separation. Now, since ships typically travel at hundreds of thousands of kilometres per hour, if we did that – well, we'd have many, many lethal missiles flying around space."

"Not very safe," Reag concluded.

"Yeah, but if you just dumped out in deep space," I pondered.

"No!" Virkran snapped. "Most ships leave their void shields off when not in combat. A lump of...er, poo the size of a _hive block_ would annihilate any ship to its constituent atoms! Is that a proper way to go, Lister?"

"Err..." I fought the urge to laugh, thinking the idea was hilarious.

"Awfully poor form," Fenton quipped. He put on a snooty voice. "Dear newly-bereaved: Your son was killed by a rogue shit-comet, possibly a new xenos weapon. We apologise for any inconvenience caused."

We roared with laughter, filling the barn with our merriement.

"An epitaph worth gawking at, at the least," Helfort sniggered.

"See why I left?" Virkran moaned after we calmed down. "There'd be hundreds of those things coming down, and defrosting excrement isn't something your nose likes much. I still think it's numb, even after all this time. But my parents, they were insufferable. My father was chief of one of the docks, he was out all the time. My mother...by the rings of Saturn...she was head researcher at Food Production."

The guy looked distinctly green.

"Her job was to find a way to turn the waste we got into...to quote her: 'a healthy, delicious food source'."

"How that turn out?" Ben asked, grinning.

"How do you think it went?" the Saturnian shot back. "She tried feeding me an experimental bar once...that was when I realised I had to get out of there. For all I know she's still pottering around poking turds. I was always a good runner – fairly fit you know, so the trials weren't too hard. Sort of flunked the combat training though, but that was after I got geneseed, and I always got good marks for my academics...so I ended up here."

"Well you're the same as us then," Reag announced proudly. "We all can't fight very well."

"Says you!" Ben retorted. "I can shoot!"

"And I am as strong as a mountain lion!" Fenton growled, flexing his considerable biceps. "I was just too lazy to do combat training."

From the looks the three other medics gave him, they didn't believe a word of what he just said.

I grinned. Fenton reminded me of Mr Kotak.

"Yeah, sucks to be a combat initiate, huh?" Ben snorted good-naturedly at us.

"Hey, wasn't my choice!" I protested. Helfort sniffed, but thankfully didn't call me out. "'Sides, you'll be right in there with us, buddy."

"Too true," Reag grunted. "Gives me the jitters, really. What's combat like?"

"Keep thy head down, and thy hands over thy family jewels," Helfort said.

"I'll keep that in mind," Reag smiled.

Sadly, that was when the sergeant decided to call us in. The barn door slammed open, Jevarn striding in with his usual impatience.

"Initiates, the briefing begins in five minutes," he announced. He looked at the four medics. "Which one of you is the leader?"

The four looked at each other. Then they looked at Ben. He sighed.

"I guess that's me, sir," he said, raising his hand. "Medic Ebenezar Lukarn, sir."

"Very good." The sergeant turned his gaze on Jyon. "Initiate Helfort, we require our packs. You will take Squad Charlie with you, and Initiate Skylan too, back to our dropsite. The clown is getting a bit restive, some exercise should cure that."

"I hear and obey," the Hibernian said automatically. "Now, sir?"

"Yes. You have three hours of dark left – I suggest you make as good time as possible," The sergeant look at his chrono. "I will allow you three days to return, any longer and we will consider your detachment slain. So try not to get caught or killed. Understood?"

Helfort nodded, going white. He slung his new Terra Nova, looking grim.

The sergeant raised a hand, as if he were giving a benediction. "Go then, initiate. Lead your men well."

My friend saluted, smiling weakly as he gave us one last wave over his shoulder as he departed. I got an awful feeling in my gut that he and Sky might not come back again. But, I reminded myself, Helfort was a good tracker, and unlike Skylan and I he would have been paying attention during our march here. Then again, after our two battles on the way to Humphrey's homestead, the area would be crawling with enemy soldiers.

I prayed to Jovi for their safe return.

Without further ceremony, Jevarn pointed at Ben and I to follow, storming out of the barn.

"Have fun," Fenton said softly, eyebrow cocked. Something about his tone made it sound like we were going to the gallows.

The two of us trailed after the sergeant, wondering what our briefing was about. Surely the fleet was going to arrive at any moment. By Jovi, we didn't have to fight more, did we?

We entered the warmth of Humphrey's house, taking off our helmets. The hall had changed. The dishes and cutlery had been swept away from the table, in their place were maps – maps upon maps. Empty mugs and bolter clips held down the corners of the maps. I gave them a quick look-over, seeing that they were a continuous representation of the terrain from the mountains we were in all the way to the city of Libertine.

Humphrey Kotak sat on a couch with a fat box on his lap, which had been coupled to the Targrenite radio the sergeant had captured. He had a pair of earphones on, and was speaking quickly. I thought he was going mad until I saw Sernax next to our vox set, frantically scribbling down what Mr Kotak was saying through ALICE.

Meanwhile, Corporal Tyraal was studiously examining the map, carefully jotting down details into a notebook of his. He sometimes leant in so close that his nose touched table. Unlike his comrade, Corporal Deviddon was leaning against the wall, looking disdainful at the world.

"Attention!" Jevarn barked. Everyone looked up from what they were doing. "Tactical briefing has begun."

We all crowded around the table; Tyraal, Deviddon, Sernax, Ben, Jevarn, Mr Kotak and I. Our Targrenite host gave me a small wave which I returned, while Sernax avoided my eyes. I looked around. The sergeant had summoned all the leaders from the new arrivals, I realised – and Sernax for his brains...and me. I suppose someone needed to fix the vox if it went funny. It wasn't a big responsibility; and besides, it was good to know what was going on. But the thing about responsibilities was that they tended to grow...

The sergeant set the vox gently down on the table, crushing some unimportant and impassable mountains. He laid the handset on the table.

"Mr Kotak," he said to our Targrenite host. "You may wait outside until we have discussed military matters."

There was a pause as ALICE translated the sergeant's words into Russtek. Humphrey flushed as he heard them.

"Sir, this is my house," he objected, incensed. "I wish for the downfall of my government as much as you do! I refuse to leave!"

Jevarn's nostrils flared impressively as he loomed over the little man. To my amazement, Humphrey Kotak stood his ground. By Jovi, that took guts!

They stood off for a few uncomfortable seconds, until Jevarn's lips thinned and the marine finally nodded.

"Very well," he warned, looking at the Targrenite levelly. "Understand that the Imperial fleet has orders to glass this entire mountain range and its surroundings if we are laid low by treachery. _That_ also includes your family up in the caves up there."

From the sergeant's tone, he could have been talking about what to have for lunch. Humphrey blanched.

"I desire the downfall of my government as much as you do!" he retorted angrily. "I will not be insulted!"

"Orbital bombardment is not an insult, good sir – it is your eulogy." Jevarn's mouth twitched, and he looked back to the congregation. "Now that we all trust each other, let us begin."

The tactical briefing was a whirlwind of information; the sergeant going on and on about enemy troop numbers, local morale, our expected battlefield conduct, just to name a few. Mr Kotak interjected a few times, giving us a few opinions on how to sneak past certain outposts and checkpoints.

"Doubtless the government will be alerted to Imperial activity," the man said through ALICE, poring over the map. His finger traced a roundabout path across it. "However, most people from Libertine are refusing the possibly of war. These checkpoints..." His fingers stabbed down there, there and there. "...will be overcrowded at dawn and dusk. If you are careful, you can circumvent the garrison at Tainjig Marsh here completely."

Surprisingly, the sergeant merely nodded. That was his sort of compliment – his silence meant he was satisfied, while things he didn't like got a good yelling at.

Meanwhile, the sound of scratching pencils went on incessantly as both Sernax and Tyraal made their notes. From the looks of things, they were trying to chronicle every last detail of our outing.

Finally, the sergeant made up his mind. He rapped the table once. Everybody looked up.

"The commander's orders are simple. We are to destroy both an anti-orbital array and the garrison fort of Chaquatua Crags by the end of this week." A deadly silence filled the hall. "There are four arrays in total, each located at the cardinal points around the city of Libertine."

Someone gulped.

"Let me remind you that while orbital defence coverage is complete above Libertine we will receive no reinforcements. Reports indicate the entire planet is dotted with these facilities. The risk to our battleships would be needless and costly – so the task falls to us to destroy at least one of them. Yes, Initiate Sernax?"

The tech-worlder had raised his hand, looking confused.

"Sir, can't reinforcements be sent in via Stormbird Assault Carriers?"

"Alas, if only initiate," Jevarn said. "No, the enemy has gotten wind of our nocturnal flights. Two of the four Aquilas that arrived tonight were shot down by highly sophisticated anti-air batteries. If I am to believe the reports, the pilots did not have time to react before they were shot down. So not that way, regrettably. However, the wing at least doubled back before they were detected, so the enemy will be combing the wrong side of the city."

We were to the east of the planetary capital. So they already knew of our presence...

"The good news is that destroying just _one_ orbital battery will reduce the risks to an acceptable level. Sky-eye observations indicate regiment-size strength at the Chaquatua Crags garrison, which is located next to the ship-killer battery we are assaulting." Jevarn's lips thinned, as if in displeasure. "This operation will mainly be one of stealth. With some careful misdirection and infiltration, most of the enemy will die under Legionnaire bolters instead."

"How, sir?" Deviddon asked doubtfully.

"Drop pods, dummy!" Tyraal hissed. He looked apologetically at the sergeant. "I'm sorry, my lord."

Jevarn ignored the two aspirants. "I cannot stress more that it is crucial that we destroy this array. Not only does the future of this campaign revolve around this victory, but our very lives are at stake. Without orbital reinforcements, no doubt the enemy's superior numbers will eventually overwhelm us."

It was my turn to gulp. We were going up against an entire _regiment!_ That was at least one thousand men – by Jovi, I don't know how we were going to pull this one off.

The briefing was soon adjourned after that. Sergeant Jevarn finished it off with an old pro-Unity battle cry.

"Unity or death!" he barked proudly.

"Unity or death!" we echoed, as required. We slammed our right fists against our chests.

I walked back to the barn, deeply troubled. The word 'death' in that slogan didn't refer to an individual's mortality – no, it referred to the end of all civilisation and knowledge if the Emperor's crusade failed, according to the sergeant.

So whose death would come in five days? Mine, or the death of Libertine?


	30. Targren IV: Family Matters

**Author's note: Sorry about the late update fellas. Life happened lol. Anyway, I've decided to PM reviewers and adders who've been kind enough to let me know about their views on my story. Looks a little neater that way, and also I get my answers back to everyone faster. Unsigned or anonymous reviewers I obviously can't PM, so I'll put my replies on the start of every chapter like I used to. Anyway, this is the chapter!**

There was a sort of tranquillity in weapons drill. It was just me, prone in the soft grass of a secluded meadow partway up the mountain; and for the first time in a week, I could truly relax.

There was something reassuring in having just a simple task to do, reducing my world to four targets in my scope fifty metres away. I panned my weapon from left to right: Jack, Bob, Joe and Greg – four bales of hay that I had spent an hour carting up the mountainside.

I hummed one of Jovi's prayers as the rifle jerked, sending up a puff of hay on the side of one of my targets. It had been a day since Jyon and Sky had left for our packs. Worry still niggled at my mind, but at least with Skylan there our extra goods would go unnoticed. That was cause for a sigh of relief.

It was balmy under the midday sun. Targren IV's days were as mild as its nights were bitter. Lying here, alone, you could almost forget that war even existed.

Another three hours of this, that was Jevarn's instructions. For once, I wished training could be longer.

Because before long, I'd have to get up and face reality once more.

…...

I stumped into the house, teeth chattering from the cold outside. 2714 hours, my chrono read. I shook my head, still aggrieved over the thirty hour day. I slung my helmet onto the hat stand beside the doorway, trying to rub some feeling into legs that had been still for five hours of guard duty. That shift had been an utter bore, since I had been paired with a diminutive aspirant who seemed content to gawk at me the entire time. To my disgust, the tiny git had just squeaked when I tried to talk to him; we had spent the rest of the shift in silence.

Tired and hungry, I walked into the great hall and promptly collapsed onto the nearest chair. Gone was the contentment I felt earlier today. There had been no sign of Helfort or Skylan, but it was still too early to draw any conclusions.

That just made waiting even worse, in my opinion.

I shakily got to my feet and Mr Kotak bustled in, hustling me back into my seat. He whipped on an apron and lit the fire underneath the black cauldron sitting on the cooktop. From a cupboard he took a ceramic bowl and a spoon, setting them next to the pot. He turned to me, first pointing to his mouth, then his ears.

I nodded, getting up and placing the vox machine onto the table. The fellow seemed to hesitate, as if battling with himself inside. His round face betrayed no hint of guile. I watched him expectantly.

"Do you have family?" Humphry asked abruptly. "Some of your other Imperials call each other brother, yet they look nothing alike."

I wasn't surprised at that – some aspirants seemed over-confident that they would become full Legionnaires. To me, it seemed a little presumptuous to call anyone 'brother' if you had just met them.

I shook my head. "I am an orphan," I said slowly, for the translator's sake.

Humphrey's eyes widened. "No mother, no father?" he said haltingly, through the vox machine.

"No." Privately, I wondered where this was going. I quickly glanced around – everyone was outside, even the sergeant, who was no doubt inspecting the lines.

"But you are such good boy!" I winced at ALICE's mangled translation. "You are much kinder than the other Imperials."

He pointed at the sink, which was piled high with dishes left by the other initiates. I had always washed mine after eating – that was just common manners beaten into us at the orphanage. Confused, I just shrugged.

"You are polite, which is less than I can say of most of your comrades," the Targrenite continued. "Most of them act if I am not here at all."

"Err..." I flushed.

Try as I might, I couldn't deny that particular fact. The most Mr Kotak ever got from Squad Blue were suspicious looks and a pile of dirty dishes. The aspirants, taking their cue from the initiates, did the same. Amusingly, the little blighters always took the time to wash up after themselves whenever I was in the hall.

"I have something to show you, if you are having interest," the Targrenite said. He walked to the fireplace, picking up a picture from the mantelpiece.

Curious, I followed him, dragging the vox behind me. The warmth of the fire was a welcome balm to my aching legs. I stood next to the stubby man, peering at the faded picture. He passed it me carefully.

It showed a younger Mr Kotak standing next to a dumpy-looking lady. They looked around twenty at the time, and both didn't look too happy.

Wordlessly, he placed another picture in my hands, which showed a slightly older – and plumper – Humphrey standing proudly next to a tall, haughty blonde. The first lady, even dumpier than before, stood a little away from the couple with a noticeable air of disgust. I noticed the blonde was considerably prettier than the first woman.

Again, I was handed another picture, which was gilt-framed. Mr Kotak was positively beaming in this one – I realised this must have been taken only a few years ago, judging by the size of his paunch. He had an arm around a stunning raven-haired beauty – not as pretty as Jane mind you – but pretty enough! I snorted. The girl was probably only twenty herself, whereas Mr Kotak – I glanced up – was pushing fifty. The other two women stood apart, on either side of the portrait – the blonde looking disgruntled and the first woman even more so.

"My women," explained the real Mr Kotak, smiling happily at the photos.

I began to nod, but there was something wrong...

"Wait," I interjected. "You divorced _twice_? So you left her –" I pointed to the first photo. "...and her –" I jabbed the next. "And then you married this girl? And why do you still keep the others around?" My finger poked the portrait-Humphrey in the gut accidentally.

He looked taken aback. "No...I have wife, mistress and whore. Can Lister guess which is which?"

I glanced over the three pictures. The prettiest one would logically be the wife...right?

"That one's your wife," I said confidently, pointing to the ebony-haired woman.

"No – no – no!" Humphrey protested. "You have it all wrong!"

I scanned over the pictures again. "It doesn't make sense..."

"It be making perfect sense!" he roared, jabbing at the photographs. He pointed to the raven-haired girl. "That is whore."

"Um, OK," I agreed nervously.

"That is mistress." Humphrey's blobby finger pointed are the scowling blonde.

"This is wife." Now that I looked closer at the third picture, the dumpy woman's face was on the brink of an apoplectic fit.

"But why isn't the prettiest one your wife?" I asked quizzically.

"Dumbo, what is point of whore is she is not prettier than wife and mistress?" Mr Kotak asked rhetorically.

"That doesn't make sense..."

I had a hazy idea of what the word 'whore' meant – something to do with massages, I think. Since Orphanage Number 18 was located in downtown Ginas, we ran into the ladies that worked in the harlot houses there. All of them seemed to be women, which was odd, and I remember they were always kind to a fault to us young ones, if a little melancholy.

"Why not just one?" I ventured, carefully.

"That is way here, the right way. Wife is for making first-born son, mistress is for keeping wife in check, whore is for keeping mistress from annoying man too much," Humphrey explained with a satisfied nod. "We are big happy family, all of us."

Somehow, even the translator ALICE sounded doubtful.

"Do you what to see my family?" A much larger portrait was shoved into my hands. It was a group shot.

Mr Kotak was easy enough to spot, being the large rotund blob at the centre. He had an arm around the black-haired beauty, who looked distinctly smug – if not a little gravid. To his right stood a gangly-looking youth with pimples on his face, who was smiling shyly. I noticed his eyes were not even on the camera; but seeking askance from the dumpy lady who was trying to edge out of the shot – she wore a murderous expression aimed at Mr Kotak's 'whore'. On the other side was the blonde, who was now considerably plumper – also staring daggers at the dark girl in Humphrey's arms. The four stood out like desert rocks in a sea of sand – the sand being the many children that swarmed around the feet of the adults.

"Wow, you must've been a busy boy," I blurted out, without thinking. I quickly went red – that wasn't the most tactful thing to say, right?

Surprisingly, the Targrenite swelled with pride.

"I am Mountain King! Of course, as you are saying, 'I have been busy'!"

I tried unsuccessfully to count the kids in the picture – no, by Jovi, there were too many.

"Wait!" I noticed something was wrong. "You aren't married to your 'mistress' and your 'whore', right?"

"No..." He scratched his paunch.

"Then how..." I pointed at the kids. "Did you make kids from these two? You have to be married to have kids."

He gave me an odd look, as if I was an idiot.

"It be just happening, like the sun will rise," he said. "But anyway..."

He pulled out another gilt-framed portrait, passing it to me. I carefully set the rest back on the mantelpiece – any more and I'd drop them all. It was the gawky-looking fellow, around sixteen to eighteen years of age by my reckoning. His hair had been freshly shaved all the way to the scalp, and his forehead protruded in the most ungainly fashion.

"Handsome, isn't he?" Humphrey remarked wistfully, peering over my shoulder. "He is good, strong boy."

I raised an eyebrow. Weak chin, stubble, narrow shoulders – the jacket he was wearing hung off his stork-like frame. In fact, that jacket looked almost military in cut, it reminded me of something, something recent – I swear, I had seen that somewhere before...

"Traitor!"

In a flash, Jane's pistol was aimed squarely at the man's heart. Blood roared through my ears, and I felt the deep pulse of indignation in my chest. I felt anger. I felt disbelief. I had _wanted_ to trust this man!

"You – you tricked us?" I said, teeth bared. "You took us in and fed us – was it poison in the soup?"

I growled wordlessly. His chins wobbled as he shook in terror.

"Your son is the military, eh? Wanted to rub it, did you? When is the attack planned?" I jabbed my pistol at him. "Answer me!"

"No-no-no-no! You have it all wrong!" he protested, cross-eyed from staring at the barrel. "I need your help! My son – my son was conscripted, you are my last chance! You must see!"

"So you decided to sell us out?" I snapped, thrusting the pistol at him again. "Admit it, that was your plan!"

"You must trust me! Please, I am not selling you out!" The man was going whiter by the second. I felt a stab of pity for the man, but if he was a traitor there could be nothing – no mercy. "I need someone to help him escape. You must understand..."

He began to weep, fat, blubbery tears rolling down his face. I drew back in distaste.

"He is my first-born son! The pride of my life – I would trade him for five of my other children in a heartbeat! He is as strong as a bull –"

"No! No! I'm don't need to hear about his –" I stuffed my free hand in my left ear.

"...virility like a god! He _must_ live to continue my bloodline!" The man was begging me now. "I swear – I swear – I am being betraying you! You must trust me – please!"

He gave me a beseeching look. I found myself thinking back to the sergeant's distrust before we had arrived.

_But where was the trust in this galaxy?_

I bit my lip. The rational part of me screamed for me to call the sergeant; that was the sensible thing, he'd be able to sort it, I wouldn't even have to pull the trigger. But some part of me wanted – no, needed to know that there was, at least, a little good in this cosmic shit-hole of a galaxy.

_Are you being stupid?_ I asked myself this. We could die if he was a traitor! _I_ could die!

But what would Jane do? I had liked this fellow before, he had never shown any previous sign of treachery, and he had faithfully transcribed the enemy vox reports, which, from sky-eye images were all truthful. She would tell me to trust this guy, right? Right?

My aim wavered, and finally, I holstered the pistol.

"I'll try take your word," I said slowly. "Man to man. But if we are betrayed, Jovi mark me, I will kill your family up in those mountains – if that's the last thing I do."

I didn't think I could kill women, let alone children for that matter – but the weeping Targrenite didn't know that.

He shakily wiped the tears from his cheeks. "I swear I will not be betraying you or your comrades. Now please, will you be helping me?"

I looked again at the portrait, noting that my fingers had crushed the side in my agitated state.

I gave a wary nod. "Depends on what it is."

"Will you be keeping this from your leader? He does not like me." As if to emphasise this, the man shot a furtive glance at the corridor leading to the front door.

"Depends," I repeated.

"It is not very difficult a task," said Humphrey. "My son...he already be wishing to return to his papa. He is wishing to run away, but does not know when it is safe. He does not wish to fight. You see, you Imperials – not you, of course! – have a reputation for brutality. Please do not take offence! It is fact, especially for the armoured giants, who are said to have no care for life..."

He trailed off, watching my face in apprehension.

"Well, the talk is correct, Mr Kotak," I agreed readily. "But some are better than others." I sighed. "So you want me to 'rescue' your son? How in the stars am I supposed to recognise him either?"

Humphrey gave me a watery smile. He pointed at the map.

"You should be taking at most a day to reach Chaquatua Crags, and around two days to fight and win your way through. The big man told me so," he said, referring to Sergeant Jevarn. "Then you will be taking this route to march on the capital with the other soldiers. He is telling me that all of you Imperials will be scouting around of the main army. I will send letter to son to tell him to meet you."

He grinned feebly, as if it solved all his problems. I could already spot a dozen flaws in his plan, not the least the fact that sneaking past an _army_ of space marines was as likely as Skylan walking past an unattended coin.

"That's a lot of 'ifs', Mr Kotak," I commented doubtfully. "How you even sure we'll find him? Or meet him on time?"

"The thing I have been learning about you Imperials," began Humphrey. "Is that you are punctual to a fault. Why, your invasion fleet arrived right on the date they were saying they would be arriving."

"The Imperium advertises its arrival?" Disbelief warred with anger. If they didn't even _know _we were coming, perhaps we wouldn't have had to go through all this grief!

"Yes. A powerful – very powerful message was beamed to us three months ago. Across all frequencies, it was broadcasted. Ha! I am remembering me listening to radio, then this voice be cutting in, saying, 'To all human civilisations, Terra remembers you. In precisely two months the Imperium of Man shall make planetfall. Comply willingly or be punished.' Of course, I was not understanding what they were saying, a friend told me afterwards. It was in the same speech you are making with your friends."

That was Anglish Gothic, which was what I learned most human colonies used, or variants of it. High Gothic, the _Verbiage Galactica _or simply the Emperor's Gothic wasn't used unless you were talking to a Terran. Even then, only high-ranking officials understood what the long-winded drivel all meant.

"So _that's_ why you sent your family up the mountain," I realised. "You were warned. So...you contacted an Imperial spy afterwards, right?"

"That is correct. Shortly after my son was taken from me, I went to the barracks he was being imprisoned in to demand his return. Three times I tried – _three_ times! They were throwing me out like a dog – they even took my pants and made me walk like that all the way back to my house! So I be saying to myself, 'No! I have no liking for the current government, and I am loving my son too much to lose him. I must find a way to save him.' Then it was simple task of finding a spy – ha! Every merchantman still left on the planet was one."

"Ah," I said. "So you expect _me_ to find your son? How am I meant to know he won't mistake me for an enemy and shoot me?"

"He will not be taking his weapons," Humphrey answered. "It be making running away easier, and also surrendering."

"Right..." I didn't see how this was going to work. There were simply too many places where it could go wrong.

I opened to my mouth to refuse me, when it hit me like a bolt of lightning.

Our packs. We would be leaving our packs _here!_ Skylan and I would need someone to look after our packs, as well as to lie about our whereabouts. A plan, ill-formed and hastily wrought, began to brew in my head.

"I...alright. I'm in, but only if you do something for _me_ in return." I said. He stared. "I won't tell you now...this is something that you _must_ do for me when I ask it of you. Deal?"

I stuck out a hand to shake. He took it without hesitation.

"We are having deal."

Despite my doubts, my heart sang with relief. That was another complication ironed out in our escape plan. Praise Jovi!

That was, I quickly reminded myself, if Humphrey Kotak was not a traitor.

Humphrey sniffed snottily. I pulled a face.

"Here is place where he should meet you," he said, giving me a little map. Looking at it and glancing over at the big map, I realised it was a detailed portion of of a region ten kilometres from where the city of Libertine started.

"How do you know where we're going?" I asked suspiciously.

"It is logical, no?"Humphrey shrugged. "You destroy Chaquatua Crags compound, then you are marching on capital with your armoured giant friends."

I thought it over. "I suppose..."

"Where else are you supposed to go?" Humphrey continued, unabated. "The other orbital defence compounds will no doubt have reinforcing, you cannot surely attack those with such little forces. No, after Chaquatua you will relegated to scouting around, ahead of the main forces, no?"

"How do _you_ know all this?" I countered. This struck me as mighty odd as how he knew all this. "How do you know what will happen?"

"I am Mountain King!" he snapped fiercely, looking me straight in the eye. "In my youth I was a fine fighter, a leader of men! I slew ork by the dozen –" He coughed, looking away. "Well, I fought several orks and bested them."

"Right..." If he had ever been a soldier, he had definitely gone to seed. His belly wobbled ponderously during his impassioned defence.

"He will meet you here," Mr Kotak said. A small cross was marked on the map. Judging by the topography, it was located on a small hillock, far removed from any township. An honest place to meet, I suppose. If it was in some valley or ditch – prime ambush locations – I would have refused out of hand. "He will not be armed. My boy will also bring two of his friends. Are you schooled in letters?"

"Sort of. Why do you ask?"

"I am understanding that you cannot be looking after my boy forever." He smiled wistfully. "That is my job, for as long as I have life. However, I am not wanting you to be taking him prisoner – your Imperial friends will not be kindly to him, since the government strives yet against them. No, I am wanting you to write a letter of recommendation for him to be carrying, to tell them of his good character and benevolent intentions. Surely you must be having a seal or stamp of authority to prove it is real?"

His voice rose hopefully. As far as I could tell, I had never come across such a thing. I shook my head.

"His best bet," I mused, thinking hard. "Would be to blend in with civilians. Tell him to lose his uniform and weapons, and to head away from the city centre. There will be bombing," I added bitterly. "And chances won't be as good for him there. Tell him to get out of the city as a civilian – even space marines – the armoured giants – try not to shoot them."

I knew this from my lessons in the Imperial Battle Doctrine, or the _Codex Belligaris_. Its main instructions for human worlds called for the complete and thorough destruction of a non-compliant planet's military forces, as well as outlining the treatment of civilians of such worlds. Soldiers were urged not to attack non-aggressive civilians, to 'preserve goodwill and foster compliance', according to the tome. It also encouraged the free rendering of medical treatment to non-combatants and the like, but that was more the province of medics such as Ebenezar Lukarn. Combat initiates were instead directed to the more gory sections of the Codex, such as the prescribed, harsh persecution of xenophiles, the dirty monster-kissers that grovelled to their alien masters on some worlds. They were given no quarter, soldier and civilian alike, and rightly so.

I didn't realise I was staring at the man. He was cringing. I had every right to be suspicious; this whole affair smacked of something fishy. But try as I might, there was this irresistible urge in me to see if the Targrenite was a good man.

I knew what Skylan would call me: a naïve idiot. Jyon wouldn't say anything – he would have slain Mr Kotak out of hand. I told myself that I had the rest of my life to fall in line, to become just another cynical, grouchy bastard like most of the adults at the orphanage. What was the bloody rush to grow up anyway?

"Please," Humphrey begged me. "Please help my son."

The poor man had almost wilted at this point. My gaze snapped back into focus. I hadn't realised I had been so caught up in my own thoughts.

"I'll help him," I said quietly. "Well – I'll try. No guarantees."

His face lit up, joyous. "Thank you! Thank you!" he kept gushing. It was almost unseemly for a man to be that happy, but maybe that was what having children did to you?

I heard the front door creak open, heavy booted footsteps treading on the stone flags of the hallway. I felt a moment of alarm. Had they been listening? No – no, no one could hear anything through two walls, not even the sergeant. Or so I hoped.

It was as if fate was mocking me. Humphrey and I exchanged glances.

"...what can be salvaged extracted by tonight." That was Jevarn's voice. To my relief, the giant Terran didn't sound the least suspicious. "I take it you have brought cold boxes?"

"Yes sir," came Ben's muffled voice. "The Ossmodula shouldn't pose a problem, but the Biscopea...sir, it's er, iffy. It should be already too late for that – they degrade pretty fast sir."

The door swung open, the sergeant leading the medic into the hall. Ben greeted me with a small nod before turning back to the sergeant.

"Do what you can, apprentice Lukarn," Jevarn said, sounding years older. "It is good to know that Initiate Argeh's life did not go to waste."

So they were talking about Argeh, I realised. The thought of people – well, _anyone_ rummaging around in the innards of someone I had known was a little disturbing. I kept that thought to myself, of course.

Ben saluted. "I'll get right to it sir...if there's nothing else?" He seemed a little nervous. "I'll report back to you as soon as it's done."

Jevarn waved him off. "No need for that, apprentice, you would not be here if your masters doubted your skills. You would do better to get some sleep before tomorrow's ceremony."

Ceremony? What was this?

"Aye sir!" The medic gave me a half-wave over his shoulder as he fled the hall.

"Here you are..." Jevarn rumbled, looking straight at me. I gulped. Did he know about everything? "I need you up by 0600 hours. We bury Initiate Argeh at sunrise, so to your billets, now."

I did my best not to sag with relief.

"Aye sir," I replied. "Can I have dinner before I go, sir? Please?" My stomach rumbled. I braced myself for the sergeant's furious tirade.

To my surprise, he gave me a wry look before glancing at the pot, which was bubbling now. He ladled a scoop of the steaming broth, bringing it to his lips without the slightest hesitation.

"Alack! Onions!" The marine shook his head with a grimace. "Poison of the worst form, since you survive to taste it yet again! I forbid you to eat this, initiate! To your billet!"

He strode out as abruptly as he had come in. Bemused, all I could think of was: _'But I like onions...'_

…...

Nevertheless, I did have some soup before I left the house for the barn, at the price of a scalded tongue. Sergeant Jevarn's wrath wasn't the only reason for my haste; Mr Kotak's hysterical gratitude was getting on my nerves. Schemers and traitors didn't act like that, I didn't think. I always imagined them to leaning back with a satisfied smirk after they had conned their victims. No, the more I thought about it, the more Mr Kotak seemed like the real deal.

I entered the barn. Immediately, I smelt the heady tang of blood, like when I had stabbed that soldier in the heart. I still felt guilty about that, but I reasoned he would have gladly returned the favour. The deed was done, there was no point in dwelling on it. Not at least until later. The low murmur of voices reached my ears.

"Steady now, here we go," said someone. The high-pitched whine of a cutter filled the barn. It deepened as it drove into something – _someone_. "_Steady_ Fenton! I almost slipped!"

"Sorry," the Cthonian mumbled contritely.

"Come on, come on..." That was Ben alright. His Terran accent was coming out strong. "Dammit, he's already passed the fourth stage. Reag, hand me the number threes."

The apprentices came into view as I walked further in, gathered in the little alcove where Argeh had been placed. They had all donned white smocks. Argeh's body was still on the floor, but thankfully I could only see his legs. Niddon and Reag knelt on either side of my squad mate's corpse, holding it still and shielding me from the grisly sight. Ben was also kneeling, but he was above Argeh's head, fiddling with something on his wrist. Delbryen, Jovi help him, was hovering nearby with a metal box in hand, watching the proceedings with rapt fascination. I felt my gorge rise, so soon after I had eaten.

Ben looked up. Over his face was a mask. "Evening. We're just extracting the glands from your squad mate's chest, shouldn't be too long," he said, casual as anything.

It was all I could do to stop myself from screaming, _'How can you be so calm about this?'_ This was a someone's body, for Jovi's sake! Wasn't killing it enough?

I managed to to shake my head, but the Terran's attention was elsewhere.

"Aha!" he exclaimed. There was a click and a whir as he held a metal-gauntleted fist up. Despite my revulsion, I couldn't help staring at it.

Narthecium. That was its name, the fabled instrument of the Apothecaries that was reputed to be able to cure any hurts. Painted pure white, it jacketed Ben's arm all the way to the elbow. Numerous electric displays dotted it, all showing the same flat line. I wondered briefly what that meant. But my eyes were drawn to the wrist, where a precise, compact chainblade was mounted . The blade casing was stained with ichor, but the newly-installed 'number threes' glittered. The auto-stitchers on either side of his wrist were folded and inert; there was no life to save in this particular patient. Likewise, the injector battery at the top of the wrist was retracted and shut. Ben and his medics were here to carve Argeh up, not heal him.

I was held in a sort of morbid trance as the Narthecium was plunged into Argeh's pallid flesh. Reag had shifted a little; to my dismay, I could see a little of the butchery that was happening – worse, I couldn't tear my gaze away.

Again, I felt a wave of nausea. Throwing up would be disastrous and humiliating, I told myself. I had to get a grip!

As the blade sunk ever deeper, I began reciting facts that I had learnt over these past nine months as an initiate. Anything, by Jovi, anything to shut out what was happening before my eyes.

I found myself thinking about how easily the cutter parted flesh, as easy as a knife through water. It was still a chain blade, but it was no weapon. Its teeth were too straight, unlike the hooked and barbed teeth of a chainsword, which tore and mangled flesh to a bloody puree. Chainswords did their bloody work by pulling flesh several inches around the initial cut into the rotating teeth, creating the devastating wounds that they did. Given time, they could saw through metal, armour or bone – which, by the terrible screeching – was happening now.

"This one's tough, fellows!" Ben grunted, straining against Argeh's body. I tried not to think of him as _Argeh_, just _that body._ "Push him up, up. I might slip!"

The body gave a violent jerk as something finally gave way. The screeching died off as Ben eased out the cutter. The Narthecium was bloody up to his wrist.

"Again, boys?" he said with a satisfied grin.

I looked around for Harog, before remembering he was on guard duty. The feral worlder would be in hysterics if he saw his friend being dismembered.

"Wait, go a bit more to the side, you'll hit the sternum and get stuck," Reag said.

"Yeah, thanks." The cutter went in again, but the screeching ended soon after.

Ben looked up at me. "The first cut's always the hardest. It's a question of leverage, you know."

By now the air in the barn was awash with blood. It didn't smell anything like a nosebleed or what-have-you, but closer to the meaty abattoir stink in meat lockers. Again, I was glad Harog wasn't here to see this.

"What you cutting him up for?" I asked, trying to sound relaxed. "He's got no geneseed."

The extraction of geneseed was one of the main jobs of the Apothecaries. They were actually called progenoid glands. A marine got two, one in his neck and one deep in his chest. If I remembered correctly, they were one of the last implants to go in. Traditionally, the neck implant was harvested as soon as it was possible, while the chest progenoid was taken in death. That was only sometimes, mind, since there was such a big supply coming from some mysterious supplier. With luck, I would be long gone before I even got those horrid things.

"The glands," answered Ben. "Biscopea and Ossmodula. We take them back and vat-grow them – it's for initiates whose bodies aren't producing the right amounts of hormones. It doesn't always work though."

"Oh," I said lamely. "Guess that makes sense."

I watched the grim butchery until I could take no more. I dragged my sleeping roll outside, away from the blood, away from the body of my squad mate. It was painfully cold, and I knew I would be damp when I woke up, but at least I could escape into my fitful dreams.

…...

"Honour guard, attention!"

Ten boots stamped onto the wet grass. We stood in the wind-swept glade I had practised in the day before, trying not to shiver in the sombre pre-dawn. Though I was stiffly at attention, I let my eyes roam down the line.

We were arrayed in two files, five on each side like the marines had at the victory parade so long ago in Ginas. The initiates stood at the end of each file, with the exception of Coporal Tyraal, who stood at the very start of my file. I glanced to the right uneasily. It was a pit, two metres long and two metres deep – Argeh's freshly dug grave. Harog had dug it for him overnight; he had the blisters to show for it. Poor guy, he must be taking it the worst out of all of us.

Tyraal's squad filled in the rest of the honour guard. It was only when I stood next to the kid next to me that I realised how tall we were getting. Most didn't come up to my shoulder.

I stiffened as I heard Jevarn call, "Bearers, attention!"

I tried not to meet Mogas' red-eyed glare, instead staring at a point somewhere above his head.

"Honour guard, present arms!"

And present arms we did, forming a corridor of steel to send Argeh off to the afterlife. We had been ordered to fix bayonets for this occasion.

"Bearers, slow...march!"

Here they came, the four medics carrying Argeh's stretcher, as was their duty. One exception was Harog, who had been permitted to take a corner. His face was fixed, like wax, yet tears flowed freely down his cheeks. There was nothing childish about these tears, nothing shameful – just pure, unfettered grief. I don't think anyone, not even the sergeant faulted him for them. Ben marched in front of the procession carrying the flag of the Aquila, face solemn, and the hulking form of the sergeant brought up the rear.

As as Ben was about to march into the pit, I heard Jevarn call, "Bearers, halt!"

Boots thumped as they ground to a halt. Argeh's body – shrouded, thank Jovi – shuddered on its stretcher. The wind moaned.

"Honour guard, attention!" We snapped our rifles back to our sides.

"Honour guard, right turn!" We now faced the grave like two lines of statues.

Jevarn marched to the front, facing us. He took the flag from Ben, holding it high before ramming into the dirt next to the grave. It fluttered bravely in the face of the gale.

"Soldiers of the Imperium, sons of Terra," said the sergeant. "Today we bury one of our own. In the hundred and ninth year of the Emperor's rule Initiate Argeh did fall in battle in the direst of circumstances, prosecuting his duties with bravery and zeal. I, Scout Sergeant Matthias Jevarn, do attest that he did not flee, hide nor shirk from the enemy. Any who wish to object to this, speak now, and I will challenge thee."

No one spoke. Skylan wouldn't even try to joke, if he was here.

"Then it is all and well. Initiate Argeh did live a full and fruitful life. His name shall be inscribed on the Wall of Memory, to be remembered forever more."

The Wall of Memory was a legion monument on Cthonia, where the names of all the initiates and legionnaires who had died in battle were carved into a gargantuan cliff face two kilometres high. It was one of the first things the primarch Horus had ordered to be built; the Mechanicum had toiled for six months to mine half a mountain away, polishing and sanding it to a smooth, vertical surface.

"Know this, men!" the sergeant's voice rose in his passion. "Though your body may wither and die, your thews be ripped and sundered, as long as you fight for the Emperor you will never, _ever, _die in mankind's eyes! Let me tell you now, ten thousand years on people will still speak our name, for _we are history!_The measure of a man is recorded in his deeds, and history _shall_ remember us as great men!"

Tyraal raised a cheer, which the honour guard followed with varying enthusiasm. I went through the actions, but I felt rather confused. People would remember us? In the end, I decided to cheer to Argeh's memory, as little as I had known the fellow.

Sergeant Jevarn pointed at Argeh's shrouded form, chest out, breath steaming with pride. "He lived an everyman, then as an initiate," he growled. "But he died a Legionnaire. Three cheers for Brother-Marine Argeh!"

"Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!" We pounded the butts of our rifles on the wet grass. Argeh had been accorded a great honour, in death.

The cheering quickly died down, fading into the wind. The glade was silent once more, save for the cracking of the flag.

"Initiate." Jevarn nodded to Harog, who saluted shakily.

Tenderly, almost lovingly, he lifted Argeh from his bier. He cradled him for a moment, before tugging at the shrouding around his chest. By Jovi, what was he doing?

We watched in silence as Harog pulled free a wooden pendant. It was a carving which had been snapped in two. He slowly took out a necklace of his own. My eyes widened as he put them together, only for them to fall apart. Two snakes, side by side, infinitely entwined. My heart went out for him.

The carving was of Gemini, the mythical sibling adventurers of old. It was symbol of brotherhood across nearly all human worlds, or so I had learned from my lessons. Or more specifically, it signified relation by _blood_.

Argeh was Harog's brother.

No wonder they had no need to talk to the rest of us. Now I truly felt sorry for Harog. He had no one to talk to, no one to comfort him, his only link to home cold and unmoving on some foreign world. He was alone.

Unwillingly, Harog stepped into the pit, taking pains not to jostle his limp brother. Grief was etched on his features. I felt a lump in my throat. I knew what it was like to lose friends, if not brothers.

The sun broke the horizon that very moment, casting long shadows over us. It was as if the trees themselves had thrown themselves down in sorrow. The wind picked up, lashing at us. I shivered.

"Post guard, present arms!" Jevarn snapped. He stared at the grave with a tight-lipped intensity.

Mogas snapped to, raising Yumec's bolter to the heavens. Red sunlight reflected cruelly off the embossed eagle.

_Red sun dawning, traveller's warning_.

Could we, in a few days time, be burying Jyon and Sky like this? Or could they be burying me? I prayed to Jovi to keep all of us safe.

"Post guard, volley!"

Mogas fired off the Imperial four-shot salute, the bolts streaking off into the air. No tawdry Terra Nova for Argeh – he would be sent off as an Astarte.

Harog emerged from the grave alone, face gaunt and eyes hollow. He was a pitiable sight. He picked up the shovel. Tears began to flow once more.

"Honour guard, dismissed!" Jevarn roared. He said something to the grief-wracked feral worlder.

We faced rear and marched out of the glade. Before I left, I glanced over my shoulder.

His lone figure was hunched over the open grave, shoulders shaking. His back was bent, as if he were carrying the very weight of the galaxy on his shoulders, with no brother to bear it with him.


	31. Targren IV: Two Sides of a Coin

"What's your name?"

The two of us were settled in a small, concealed pillbox facing the mountain. Since the possibility of an enemy assault from that particular direction neared impossibility, there was nothing to keep me on my toes. This was the easy shift; the boring one. Besides, I was feeling chatty.

The aspirant, some grubby, pale-skinned Cthonian, flinched and glanced about. His hair was some light shade of brown. He must have been only ten – just like the kids I been with in the SFL. Poor blighter, unlike the other aspirants, this one wasn't even trying to do the 'tough soldier' act. In fact, he was the only one I had met that acted his age; just a scared kid trying to get by on some war-ridden rock, Jovi knows where. I wondered whether he was a conscript like me. I would have felt sorrier for him, if he and the others stopped treating me like Bon Jovi himself –

_Forgive __me, __Great __Jovi, __for __I __can __never __aspire __to __rock __as __hard __as __you!_ I hurriedly prayed, wary of the lightning bolts of Jovi's retribution.

Anyway, the boy kept his silence, but I tried once more.

"You know, I ain't the sergeant," I tried. "I'm not gonna spit-roast you for talking – I swear, buddy!"

He didn't reply at first. He stared at me nervously. I could almost see little cogs whirling and turning behind his eyes.

"You won't, sir?" the kid finally said. Like all the others, his voice was one unbroken. "The masters always told us to keep quiet and be respectful. They beat us if we talked out of turn. But you know that, sir."

Success! I thanked Jovi for his help.

"Nah, I ain't Cthonian. From some other place, but that's a story for later," I said, motioning at the blue skies above. "Who are these masters?"

"The discipline masters! They carried these big sticks and hit us with them if we did something wrong. Which was always, sir, for them," he said, a grimace on his boyish face. The kid rubbed the seat of his pants, as if feeling some distant echo of the touch of the switch.

"Wait, what for? Where were you? Are you an orphan too?" I felt a surge of excitement. I later found out that hoping someone's parents were dead wasn't exactly polite, but that's a story for another place and day. What? How was I supposed to know? It seemed a rather optional thing, to be honest. People died that easily, as I was finding out.

He shook his head. "It sounds like it, sir, but no. I was talking about the chapter houses sir – where supplicants go to compete. There's four on Cthonia, in the most awful places you can imagine." In his speech I started to detect the rough Cthonian cant, mellowed as it was by his youth. "Every year thousands of boys travel – or die trying – to get to them. I went to Darsis Ark Six sir, deep down in the ground, near the planet core."

Thousands... It made my head hurt thinking about it. How many hundreds were even in a thousand?

"Sounds like the grox farmer's annual migration back on Sayre," I said thoughtfully. "Too many to count, and you couldn't see the horizon for the dust."

"You have grox too?" The boy's face lit up with childish glee. "How fun are they to play with?"

I laughed. "I'd rather eat them, yeah – but have you tried poking them right under the tail? You know the soft spot in the scales?"

Grox looked like overgrown rock lizards, standing about three meters tall and growing to five meters long. Legend said that the Ancients had gene-wrought these creatures themselves on the Rock of Solomon. Tough and hardy, they could survive on any fodder imaginable. I even had seen one eat synth-rubber tires back on the fields of Tommis. They could also survive for months without water, to the extent that when food and water got scarce, the usual solution was to butcher them for their meat and blood.

_I'd __kill __for __a __grox __burger,_ I thought dreamily.

The only downside to keeping grox was the fact that they sometimes lived up to their fearsome appearance. Their sharp teeth and knobbly horns weren't just for show, by Jovi. The only way to stop an enraged, five-tonne bull grox was a speeding truck mounted with grox bars and an impaler array. Even then, they put up one hell of a fight.

"No, I never tried it, sir. Don't you get kicked in the face if you don't run away fast enough?"

To that, I just grinned.

"Oh," the kid said lamely. "You must be a fast runner. Well, I used to ride grox. My family used to own an entire herd, before the Emperor arrived. His men took all but two."

"What for?" I exclaimed. I sat up. An entire _herd_, Jovi damn. His family must have been rich.

"Big men are hungry men, aren't they?" he shrugged. "And Astartes are the biggest of them all."

"Well that's thievery, plain and simple," I replied, disgruntled. "Were you even paid?"

He shook his head sadly. "Papa said we were ruined after the soldiers took our grox."

"Bloody hell," I muttered. "If it was Sayre bullets would be flying. Give them the good old roundhouse kick, we would."

"You don't _roundhouse__kick_ space marines! I'd like to see you try, though!" the boy smiled. "No offence meant, sir."

I snorted. "Watch me, buddy! And stop calling me sir. My name's Lister – Solas Lister. So, what _is_ your name?"

"Aspirant Harrald Poed, si – I mean, initiate."

"Urgh, don't call me that either! Jovi knows how many times the sergeant says that, gah! Poed, eh? Finally! Some Cthonian without that bloody 'don' tacked on the back of their name. Why do they do it, anyway?"

Poed rolled his eyes. "'Don' means 'the ruler of' in old Cthonian gutter slang. It's quite popular actually, especially with the mercenary clans. Normally they name the children after famous places they won battles at. Let me see..."

"There's Abaddon, obviously," he said, naming the First Captain Ezekiel Abaddon, lord of the war cry. Despite his fame, I had never seen the great man, though I had heard his voice at the invasion of Ginas. Poed continued. "His was a mercenary clan of terrible reputation. Killers all, so I heard. Most of their people were wiped out in the battle of Abbaphaere Hollows, despite killing half a million warriors by themselves. I don't know whether the first captain is actually one of them, but by the stories I think his claim's got some truth in it."

"Then there's Torgaddon, as in the Captain Torgaddon. I can't remember his given name, don't ask me. I know he commands the Fourth Company though. His clan were merchants-in-arms, which was unusual. They got their name from the rout of the Devikiddon raider clan at the Torgavik Caves."

I nodded. "I've seen him once or twice onboard. I think him and Captain Haran are mates or something," I said, referring to the captain of the Seventeenth Company. "Wait, you'll have seen him too!"

The Cthonian shook his head. "No, I haven't yet, Lister. I've only been on the ship for two weeks. It's so big."

"_What?_" I nearly yelled. "_Two __weeks?_ And you're already...here." I gestured around feebly.

Poed looked forlorn. "The masters said that only one in five aspirants ever came back from their first missions. I guess – I guess we're expendable. Even if I do die, I suppose that's one less hungry mouth for my family to feed."

He picked up a twig and began to twirl it between two fingers, around and around.

"You're not going to die!" I said furiously. "I won't allow it, I swear by Jovi."

"I hope not, Lister. I hope not," he said, shaking his head. For a kid of ten summers, he seemed awfully old. "But look at us! We get cheap, Imperial Army gear, and not even body armour to boot. Come now, do you really expect us all to live?"

To be honest, I thought the aspirants were of no practical use in a fight – at best a useful distraction, and at worst a hindrance. They were just _boys,_for Jovi's sake! They looked somewhat trained and eager, but would these callow, untested children be able to stand up to the horrors of battle? I thought not.

"I suppose...no," I replied. "I'm not sure why they even sent you down in the first place. There's gotta be a better way to find initiates."

"How did you become one?" Poed leaned forward eagerly. "Please, tell me."

"I don't really wanna talk about it," I said sadly, thinking of Jane. "All I'll say is that once upon a time I met a space marine captain and he took a liking to me."

"Wow!" The kid brightened up considerably. I smiled. "Which one? Is he famous? I might have heard of him!"

"His name was Captain Alaris," I said. "A good man, until he kidnapped me."

Poed gave me a blank look. "Alaris? I haven't heard of him, but the name doesn't sound Cthonic."

"I remember him saying he was Terran," I mused. "Dunno, buddy, it's been a while."

Just how long had it been? Nine – ten months? And yet, sometimes it felt like it all happened yesterday.

"Blimey, sir! I mean – that's like seeing the primarch himself!" Poed exclaimed.

I raised an eyebrow. "I did see him, kid, just a few meters away. Well – part of him. A leg. His terminator guards blocked my view."

I shuddered, remembering those black, hulking monsters, especially the one that had nearly killed me offhand. It sounded so fantastical, so incredible, coming out of my mouth now. I knew any aspirant – or initiate, even – would have given their right arm to be where I had been. Harry did not disappoint.

"What – gee – that's totally awesome! The great primarch _and_ the honoured First Company!" he practically exploded. "Did he talk to you? What did he say?"

"He didn't talk to us, you see," I snorted. "The 'great' primarch talked to the captain, asking what these 'savage natives' were doing running about, if I remember correctly."

The kid looked aghast. "He wouldn't do that! He's the Emperor's son! He's quite well-mannered, let me tell you! He came to our mess hall when we first arrived on the fleet. Gee, if gods ever existed, he'd be one. He made this awesome speech – I can't remember how it went, but that's not the point – _and_ he called us his _little__brothers_! Can you believe that?"

"He must've been in a good mood that day," I muttered. "Sure wasn't when I was there."

"Oh well, he is the Emperor's only son," Poed said chirpily. "He can do whatever he likes, right?"

"Oh, he should punch out the Emperor's lights then," I grumbled mutinously under my breath.

"What was that?" Poed gave my a sharp look, suspicious.

"Er." I scrambled for a quick reply. "I said: he should _dish_ out the Emperor's _might_. We've been talking for a while. Tongue gets a bit dry sometimes, you know."

"Of course it does, such is His magnificence," he said enthusiastically. "Ave Imperator, glory to Terra!"

_Oh, for the love of Jovi..._

"Ave Imperator, a light to mankind's way," I droned mechanically.

Saying things like that was an Imperial law, punishable by death if omitted. The Emperor thought very highly of himself, one would think. Strangely, it was only idiotic, unimportant morons like Skylan or I that seemed to realise that fact.

"Blimey," he wondered, calming down. "Imagine if we do become battle brothers. Do you reckon our families would recognise us? And – do you reckon they'd welcome us back?"

I was tempted to make some snarky remark at that, but I stopped myself.

"Not sure, buddy. I mean, you've seen how those space marines act – they ain't human any more. I dunno, Harrald, they all were once kids like us, and look how much they've changed. I know _I_ won't change, but I dunno about you." I rapped my breastplate for emphasis.

"Changed for the better, I bet," he replied. "Still, I'd like to see my family again. One day, I'll be a big hero and the primarch will send me home for a while."

"Be careful what you wish for." I pointed in the direction of the glade, where Harog lay buried, three days hence.

"They usually ship marines back to Cthonia for their families to bury," I said. The words sounded ominous.

Harrald Poed paled, and said nothing. I realised that this time I had truly frightened him.

"Oh come on! You're not even a battle brother yet! Getting sent back to Cthonia is the least of your worries!" I laughed uneasily.

He turned a sickly white now. Jovi damn.

"Um, I mean...oh, just keep your head down and you'll be alright!" was my exasperated second try. "Worked for me, so far. Which corporal do you have?"

"Corporal Devikiddon," he said awkwardly. "Don't judge me for that, please."

"He looks like a punk, so I'm not surprised you're saying that," I replied. "Is he a good fighter?"

"He's competent. But sir – sorry, he's a bit of a bully. He punched me on the arm for forgetting to bring his cards before we got onto the shuttle. We don't do anything about it, since none of us are older or bigger than him. Don't tell him that though."

"I won't." My lip curled. "I can't stand bullies myself, but yeah, he _is_ larger and stronger than you. Plus he's got the rank. Well, if he comes at you again, think about it this way. Why is he so old and not an initiate yet? You're worth five of him, I can tell just by looking at the two of you."

Poed smiled bravely. "Thank you, I'll try do that."

"You do it, buddy. You'd better. This fight ought to be alright. The sergeant ain't stupid, he's just...very angry. All you need to remember is to keep your head down and your helmet on, alright?"

"OK, Lister, I'll try. That's if I can still cogitate when it happens."

"What does that mean? 'Cogitate'? Where the hell did you learn to speak all posh like that?" I asked. The question had been niggling at the back of my mind for a while, though I hadn't put a pin on it until now.

His reply was instant. "This super cool thing called the 'hypo-mat' back at the chapter houses. No need for books ever again! I think they're an old STC design, so naturally they're a little faulty. Big words slip out sometimes, it's not my fault..."

We continued talking long into the afternoon.

...

It was silent in the barn, the air heavy and stifling. It stank, of a dozen unwashed fighters, of excitement, and of trepidation. Not a noise, as I paced rhythmically on the straw-covered ground, circling my opponent, as he in turn stalked me.

A sea of pale faces watched on behind him, around and around as we went, blurring and smudging into a halo of irrelevance. I had eyes only for my enemy, with his cold, hard eyes almost black in the electric light. Both of us were stripped to our underclothes, chests bare and heaving with sweat. He clutched a crude replica of a bayonet-mounted rifle, crudely carved from wood; holding it diagonally across his chest like a quarterstaff.

And so I was armed as well, with splinters of the newly-hewn wood already digging into my palms. I half-crouched, staying low to the ground, the red tip of my weapon thrust out aggressively at shoulder height. The tip and butt of my weapon was slathered in a viscous red paint; likewise, Mogas' was painted in blue, still wet. This was a 'full duel', where both fighters aimed to mark their opponent somewhere important, such as the heart or neck. This could be lethal – Mogas hated me, but the feeling was mutual. A blow to the neck could end either of us. I had to be careful.

Muscles tensed under tanned skin. An aspirant gasped, and Jevarn snarled out a rebuke. I glanced at the sergeant – just for a second –

Mogas lunged. I slid back, jabbing at him. He kept his distance, wary of my questing weapon.

I slowly sidled to the side, trying to get as close as possible without him retreating. He stayed where he was, pivoting to face me.

The dirt was coarse and grainy under my bare feet, though the straw was slippery. Seconds ticked by as I continue to shuffle around the feral worlder, drawing an ever-closing spiral around my foe.

He realised this almost too late, jumping backwards away from me. I growled, attacking anyway.

I surged forwards, rifle held low and straight, straight for the gut. Once, twice, three times like a piston, but all for nought. Denied! My attempts met empty air as he retreated, dodging.

His parry was sudden. Our weapons met with a resounding _clack!_, the shock numbing my hands. My rifle fell to the side. I looked up, Mogas' bayonet rushing towards my eye –

It was instinct, pure and simple. I swept my rifle up in a short arc, my stock catching the incoming rifle by the barrel. With a triumphant shout I slammed his deflected tip into the ground.

In the same breath he charged me shoulder-first. I was unprepared, hurled back a few steps.

He kept on coming. I heard a collective hush as I was bowled over. The air rushed out of my lungs as I hit the ground, back first.

Those little bastards thought I was going to lose! To hell with them!

I swept my legs out, catching Mogas around the ankles. He had crossed the legs in his mad charge, the imbecile. He paid for his zeal with a faceful of straw, releasing a cloud of dust.

I rolled to my feet, coughing and spluttering. I angled my rifle downwards, ready for the killing blow.

I hadn't anticipated he'd recover so quickly, so I swore as he rushed out of the haze with all the fury of a rabid grox. His face was red and bleeding, with the killing rage in his eyes.

I had to put this guy down, and quickly now!

He had abandoned all pretence of strategy. He came at me holding his rifle by the barrel, like a giant club. He swung it ferociously, yelling. I backed away, searching for an opening.

The return swing clipped me on the cheek, twisting my head brutally to the side. My vision went in an explosion of lurid colours, and I heard an awful ringing in my ears. I crashed to the ground, knowing I had lost.

"Continue," Jevarn said, through the pain.

I rolled desperately as the butt of Mogas' rifle smacked into the ground, right where I was before. This bastard meant business! I felt a spray of warm fluid on my face – his spit, or was that blood?

"This is for Yumec you mongrel!"

He loomed over me, towering, his head haloed by the electric lantern above. I saw the silhouette of his rifle raised high above his head. He meant to dash my brains out in the dirt.

I gasped, lashing out with my foot. It caught him on the knee; only a minor annoyance, but it made him flinch and stumble. I scrambled to my feet, making room as we both recovered.

My chest heaved, and my back burned as sweat made its way into the thousand tiny cuts caused by my fall. I brushed my damaged cheek, fully knowing that it would bloom into a livid bruise. My hand came away with a smudge of blue. He had marked me.

Time to return the favour then...

He rushed at me once more, swinging his rifle. I ducked beneath the blow, sweeping on to punch him in the stomach. This was close work – no room for the rifle! My fist met a slab of solid muscle. Jovi damn, he remembered to tense them – I should have known, since I was doing it myself!

He laughed, an ugly sound, and a fist came crashing down on the my shoulder. Pain coursed down my arm – he had hit a nerve. My abused arm spasmed. I groaned, forced down to one knee.

I heard the _whoosh_ of displaced air as he swung his rifle down at my exposed neck. Despite the agony, I managed to parry the blow by raising my own weapon. Wood met wood with a flat crack. I gritted my teeth as I buckled under the sudden force.

_Mighty Jovi, give me your strength, to smite my enemies, to protect the innocent, to honour your name..._

With a roar I shot up, striving against the maddened choler of Mogas. Our rifles snagged, I tugged and pulled, and suddenly away they went, tumbling in the straw out of reach. I punched him in his face, revelling in the satisfaction of pummelling his face. Like a champion pugilist I laid into him, smashing at his face, then his gut. I never felt his weak returns as he buckled and bent over.

I snarled, grabbing him by the crotch and wrenching up. He shrieked – I must have been gripping hard – but I didn't care! All I felt now was the battle lust, for blood. Like some demented lover I wrapped an arm around him, gripping him under the opposite armpit. Mogas reeked, his skin was slippery and offered little purchase, but I would not be denied.

With a twist and a heave I flung him, head over heels, over my shoulder. He went down back-first, limbs flying everywhere. I bared my teeth in glee.

I limped over to my fallen rifle, taking it up for the killing blow. Mogas lay writhing, arms straining to lift his damaged body off the ground.

Not a chance.

I lunged downwards, aiming for the primary heart with my wooden blade. He twisted to the side, my bayonet biting dirt instead. Canny, dirty bastard!

Suddenly, he reared back, curling in a ball before lashing out with his feet. I jumped back vainly.

It was a bitter blow, aimed for my crotch. If I had stayed still one of his feet could have mashed my precious balls. Instead, one foot hit the inside of my thigh, dragging a painful furrow in my skin. The other slammed right into my bladder. In a starbust of pain I doubled over, wheezing. Bile dripped out of my mouth.

I screamed as a hard knee slammed into my temple. I dropped like a brick, tasting dirt. My fingers clutched vainly for something – anything to fight Mogas with. Where – where was my rifle? All I got was straw and dirt. My humiliation burned bright.

Straw and dirt...

Straw and dirt...

Pain.

Clarity.

Two fistfuls of dirt and straw, straight into the eyes. My aim was true.

My blinded foe staggered backwards, clawing at his eyes.

I could hardly stand. The world spun. Like a drunkard I swung my fists at Mogas. My first missed, landing uselessly on his chest. My second try was a right hook, connecting solid with his head. Again, I felt that familiar flush of elation. My third blow was a thunderous uppercut that sent him tumbling to the ground like a sack of offal.

I waited for the sergeant to call 'end', as he had done so many times in our training. There was only silence.

I forced my creaking body to move. I found my rifle, the wood pulped and battered. The bloodlust was draining away now, leaving only a cold, vindictive malice in its wake. I walked over to Mogas' prone form.

I snarled wordlessly through clenched, bloody teeth.

I drove the point down like a stake onto his fused ribcage, once for the primary heart, and again for the secondary. The coarse wood drew blood, mixing it with red paint to form a revolting slurry on his back.

I stepped away, spent. The wooden point was dented.

"End." Jevarn's voice rang out. "Initiate Lister is the victor."

I looked around, finally recognising the faces of Corporal Tyraal's squad. Their faces showed a mix of emotions. There was disgust, disappointment – I saw money changing hands – then there was admiration, and even awe. I looked back at Mogas' pulped face. Suddenly, I felt guilty. Perhaps I should have gone for just a clean knock-out?

Too late now. Besides, he was trying to kill me. I turned away, stepping out of the marked ring, my fight over.

"Aspirants Garano and Curradon, take Initiate Mogas out to the stream and wake him up," Jevarn instructed. I heard his voice as if from a great distance. "Initiates Harog and Sernax, enter the ring and make ready."

The two selected aspirants moaned, rushing to Mogas and dragging him out, as quickly as their little feet could go. They evidently wanted to watch the next fight; it was written on their faces – those sick brats.

Sernax stepped into the ring with obvious trepidation. He gingerly held his red painted weapon, a fresh rifle whittled by the sergeant himself. Of all the squad, he was the least adept at close combat, and neither did he have the natural inclination for pugilism or wrestling. The fact was clear as the cut of his limbs. Though his body was muscular and well defined, there was still a soft roundness to them that screamed pure genotech.

I shook my aching head, feeling my cheek beginning to swell.

Meanwhile, the feral worlder Harog stalked his side of the ring. His eyes still had that hollow look to them, but by the way he handled his weapon I could tell he knew what he was doing. Unlike Sernax, Harog's thews had this corded, used look to them. This fight would be short.

I heard tittering as two aspirants handed money to another mate of theirs. Disgusting.

Suddenly, I felt completely exhausted. I made my way out of the barn, and into the house. There, in the hall, I collapsed onto a chair and fell soundly asleep.

…...

"Fuck man, Lister's starkers! Mah' eyes! Mah' eyes!" In my dreams, a door banged. "Let's git outta 'ere!"

There was a loud 'oof!', as if two people had just collided with each other.

"Quell thy tongue, you yammering ingrate. I have suffered enough of thee to last a lifetime." Even in the land of dreams Helfort sounded exasperated. "Golden fields, what hast befallen him? Look, you imbecile!"

"Not looking! Not looking! Ain't no pervy git, 'Elfort, unlike ya!" Sky chanted. "Pansy, pervy git!"

"Oh, be quiet! Look, he still wears his loincloth –"

"Ahahaha! Knew it, 'Elfort! Always knew it! Why ya lookin' there, pansy boy?"

I smiled, knowing that this dream wouldn't last. I'd try to enjoy it while I could.

"What's wrong with 'im? Ah, fuck it!" Sky yelled. The door banged again. "Oi! Li'l gits! Come 'ere and put our stuff down! Snap to, ya' miniature brats!"

There was a chorus of dejected 'yes sirs' as the sound of boots filtered into my sleeping ears. I shifted my nose, which had been painfully pressed into the hard table before.

"Ginger's such a faggot," muttered one of the aspirants as he walked past.

"And I love ya' too, li'l cunt!" Sky roared.

"You hear that, Lammedon? Ginger says he loves you dearly. Better cover your ass, my friend!" sniggered another voice.

"Shit no, ya' buggery nincompoop! Me junk's too big fer you tiddly pansies! But..." I heard a shotgun being racked. "_This_ might do the trick, since it's a lot smaller, if yer' DON'T HURRY THE FUCK UP!"

"Oh shit..."

"He actually means it..."

"_Run!_"

The patter of running feet echoed through my imaginary hall.

"Um, will that be all sirs?" asked a tentative voice, which I vaguely remembered as Mymriddon's. "Sorry about Lammedon and Pafnig, sirs, I'm sure they didn't mean that. I'll reprimand them on your behalf later."

"Aye, yer do tha', Corp'ral Whats-its-name! Damn shtraight, sholdier khid! Atteng-fhut!" Sky slurred. A chair scraped against the flags. I heard someone stagger. "Oi! More beer! Anyone!"

"May I go sir?" a confused sounding Mymriddon asked.

"Dismissed, good corporal. To your fellows," Helfort said generously, sounding a lot like the sergeant. I just hoped the gigantic Terran wouldn't invade my pleasant dream.

_Hang on..._

Why was I hearing everything so clearly?

And why was Skylan drunk in my dream?

I woke up with a rattling snort.

"Whu – what? What I miss?" I moaned. Everything was blurry. "Whassa time?"

I lifted my head from the table, squinting in the glare. Two figures burst out in raucous laughter.

"Raccoon face!" I heard Skylan jeer.

I wiped the gunk from my swollen eyes. There, real as life, was Skylan with his shockingly offensive red hair, and sitting a few seats away was Helfort, looking a bit worse of wear.

They were back. A great weight in my heart lifted. They were back, praise Jovi.

Though, not that I'd ever let them know that, mind you.

"Ginger?" I quipped sardonically.

Helfort grinned. Sky scowled.

"Don't bloody ask."

**So I'd like to apologise for the big wait. Uni exams were conveniently spaced to stop me from writing, and so were the post-exam celebrations for that matter. I know this one's a bit short, but I'm rusty. Anyway, the real action starts next chapter and after. See you later!**


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